Play The Game
by e-dog
Summary: In 1930s Boston, the game is changing. The mob is becoming more ruthless. Bodies are showing up everywhere, including the client of struggling lawyer, Abigail Rizzoli. In present day Boston, Jane Rizzoli makes a discovery concerning her family and her case collides with the past in a most unexpected way. [Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.]
1. Prologue

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: I'm quite horrible with WIPs. I think its equal parts ADD and WayTooMuchToDoInADay. Warning number one. This mixes with my love for the paranormal. Warning Two. May be some subtexty, femslashy stuff. Warning Three. So, you have been properly warned. Despite all that though, feedback is always nice. Gets me motivated.

Category: Paranormal/Drama/Romance/Comedy

Summary: In 1930s Boston, the game is changing. The mob is becoming more ruthless. Bodies are showing up everywhere, including the client of struggling lawyer, Abigail Rizzoli.

**Prologue**

**June 1887 Boston**

Mary Easton was always up for a swim.

She shed most of her clothes as she raced toward the water. Her brother wasn't too far behind her.

It wasn't too often that they had time together like this. Even though it was only the two of them, their lives had begun to steer them away from each other. They were growing up and the world was offering them new and wondrous sights every day. There was nothing they could do to stop it.

Except maybe take a swim in the Charles.

John Easton loved the water about as much as his sister. It was why he wasn't alarmed when she didn't surface after a long few moments. She was always teasing him, scaring him.

"Mary, that's enough now!" he called out, grinning.

Suddenly, the sun bounced off the water, so bright it blinded him.

He stopped grinning. Something was wrong. She still had not surfaced.

"Mary?" he shouted now. He dove under, but couldn't see anything. He resurfaced and tried again, "Mary? MARY?"

She was nowhere to be found. He splashed and dived, splashed and swam and hit the water with open palms as if that would make her reappear.

It had always just been the two of them. He couldn't lose her. He had no one else.

After several frightful minutes, he chanced a glance at the bank and he saw a crumpled Mary curled up and shivering.

"Thank the Lord!" he gasped, swimming over to her. He raced up once he was on land again and gathered her up. "Mary, you scared me! Never do that again!"

"M-M-Mary?" the young woman said meekly.

"Yes, that's you, child," John scolded playfully. He squeezed her tight to his body and held his tears at bay. She was alright.

It was then Mary reached up to John, to cup his cheek in her palm. Her eyes seemed different, he noted with great concern. So distant her gaze had become. Her thumb brushed gently against his skin before she said, "My God, is that you John?"

John was stilled by his sister's sudden amnesia. "Yes, Mary. Of course it is."

"I never thought I would ever see you grown," Mary exclaimed softly, reverently. "I thought I would be long gone before. . . How did I end up here?"

"See me grown?" John repeated. "Mary, what has gotten into you?"

"Gotten into me?" Mary repeated. "I should say John, you should recognize your grandmother when you see her!"

John Easton wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He daren't say she was insane, suddenly afraid to be scolded by the grandmother he had barely gotten to know before she died. But how absurd! This was Mary!

At least he thought it was.

"Let's go, Mary," he said stiffly. "We're going to see the doctor, okay? You nearly drowned just now, do you hear me? Let's go, alright?"

"But my name is not Mary!"

John glanced at her, looked at those eyes again and in that moment, he knew.

He didn't want to believe it, but he knew.

That woman? That was not his Mary.

It was someone impossible.

**1930s Boston**

**It was something Torin Grady didn't expect; the weight of a human body. **

It was heavy and cumbersome, his new career choice presenting its first negative attribute. Well, not the first, but perhaps the most nettling.

If he hadn't fallen behind the grind with his studies in medical school, perhaps he would have realized such knowledge about bodies beforehand, but that was neither here nor there. He was in this predicament now. This wouldn't be the first murder in Boston and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

_Please! I'll do whatever the boss needs!_

_You've already said too much. _

Grady had never seen someone beg for their life before. He had never seen a grown man on the verge of tears. Only in children had he seen such fear. That fear had Grady nearly salivating at what was to come next. In fact, this night held a great many firsts for Grady, personally. He had followed his target, interrogated his target and then strangled his target. He'd done all those tasks frighteningly well.

This is what happened when a man in this town owed certain other men favors. He had finally become what his mother was afraid he would always be: a sheep. A murdering, disrespected shell of a man.

Following the crowd. Getting mixed up with the wrong people. Now he was a killer.

He finally dropped the load near some leftover construction debris and exhaled heavily. Looking ahead, he wiped his brow with a handkerchief and relished the brief break. Damn, it was dark! He squinted hard, hoping to clear up his surroundings just a little. Finally, he spied a good spot.

"'Bout time," he muttered to himself. With great pains, he hooked his hands under the pits of the poor schmuck he was dragging and pressed onward to his destination.

After a few attempts, he lifted the body and shoved it through a void in the unfinished wall. A bit of dust kicked up when the body hit the floor again, stinging his eyes. He backed away, mumbled, "Bloody hell. . ."

Yes, hell. He would be going to hell for this.

The man glanced at the sky once, almost fearfully, then back to the resting place he selected. He removed his hat and held it tight. Quickly he said, "I know we never met, sir, but it wouldn't be right to leave you without a blessing. So here goes. This life is just a resting place. Be with the Lord now and forgive me for abandoning you like this. "

_Until we meet again, may God  
Hold you in the palm of his hand._

The Boston streets were eerily quiet, but Grady found himself comforted by it. Killing had given him a rush like no other, but now it was sinking in what he had done before God. He took great pains to slow his gait, not wanting to look hurried or guilty or excited.

Not that there were many folks around to see him, but he didn't want to take any chances. He neared a familiar hole in the wall and had a sudden thirst for anything that would wash away the grit he could feel in the back of his throat.

He pushed through the doors of _The Robber _and prepared himself mentally to drink away the sins of the night.

But nothing could wash away this sin. Not when he desperately needed to taste it once more.

**The site for the new Boston Natural History Museum was supposed to be a place of new hope in these crazy times. **Instead it was the site of another grisly murder and quite frankly, this gumshoe was getting tired of working them. The horrid things people did to other people just shook him cold most days.

From what he could gather, at least this fella seemed to die peacefully. No blood, no disfiguration that he could see so an open casket service for his family. Cause of death would probably be harder to determine, but perhaps this was the kind of thing that kept him in the game. That's right. Murder was a game, forever changing. The mob was getting more creative, if not more bold and he had a feeling this was definitely a mob hit.

"Bobby. Who's this broad?" grumbled his partner, Lane.

He didn't have to look but he did anyway. Tall and thin, she towered over some of the other men here by a few inches. She opted for less traditional dress, wearing some trousers and a blazer. A fedora draped over her eyes. Maybe she hoped it would disguise her somehow. Or maybe she knew she would stick out like a sore thumb.

Bobby presumed it was the latter.

Her gaze was on the building, steady and curious. The detective gave his partner a tight smile and replied. "Don't worry. It's just my wife."

"Humph. She didn't wear _that_ to the Christmas party."

"She wanted to."

"Well, you better get her out of here Rizzoli," his partner warned. "This is no place for a woman, even if that woman is a lawyer. Remember what happened last time she stuck her nose where it didn't belong."

With little protest, Bobby made his way over to his wife. She didn't look his way which meant she full well knew he was coming. She was just going to be intent on ignoring him. What a wife! None of the other fellas had such a time, but that was part of her charm, wasn't it? He stood beside her and tried to spy what it was she found so interesting, but he knew his efforts would be fruitless. She had a much better eye for detail than he.

"Abigail," he finally said. He glanced at her attire. "Those are my trousers."

"They're comfortable," she replied with a half shrug. Her stance was almost rakish, yet the soft features of her face made the look so sultry. Maybe too sultry for the public, but he wouldn't have that argument here and now.

"Why are you here? You should be at home. . ."

"Doing what, Bobby? Washing the dishes or painting my nails? I didn't become a lawyer to sit at home."

"Well, it's not like you got any cases. Maybe you should find some clients."

_Because her single most important client ended up a victim. _

"Maybe you should find some murderers."

_All of his murderers could have very well killed her client._

They were silent for a moment, as if in some standoff. She hadn't had a decent client in months. He had failed to make any arrests in a longer time. They were both feeling the heat.

Bobby could see the corners of her mouth turning up. They always argued like this and they both secretly loved it. A man didn't find many women like Abby. The kind that could freeze a man in his tracks with a look; a look that said more about strength and honor than most men could ever claim to own. She was powerful.

"Was it him, Bobby?"

As if on cue, the clouds took on a dark edge.

She knew. She just wondered if her husband would lie about it.

Bobby Rizzoli loved being a detective, but there were certain parts of the job he really hated. The stiff found in the walls _was_ an old client of Abby's. A client that had taken a stand against the mob. He had paid for his testimony with his life. He didn't have it in him to confirm it.

"Your silence is enough, I suppose," she said, looking down at her feet now. "I told you Jimmy needed protection."

"We tried, you know that Abby," Bobby said gently. "Jim knew the ins and outs of all their dealings. He also knew coppers that could be involved and that paranoia drove him to run. Nothing we could do."

"I have to right this. For his family," Abby said with determination. Jimmy only ever mentioned having a sister. "I convinced him to do it and now he's dead."

"_You_ were his lawyer. _You_ could be dead right now," Bobby argued. "I won't allow you to observe or help or whatever it is you think you're going to do. Not this time, Abby. Let me handle it, okay? "

He almost grimaced. Using the word 'allow' probably wasn't the best tactic. Abigail was not one to be "allowed" to do or not do anything. Thankfully, she saved him the lecture.

"I was co-counsel," she argued back. "And I was the girl. No one paid any attention to me in there. They certainly won't pay me any mind at _The Robber_."

"What do you think you'll find in a hole like that?" he grumbled. "They got nothing but twits in there. And they serve slugburger all day long."

"It's where I found Jimmy and he was no twit," she retorted.

"He was a patsy and we should've seen that coming."

Abby sighed before motioning that she wanted to check out the half-finished museum. Without Bobby, it would be impossible for her to roam the site without being stopped by his other brothers in law enforcement.

He wanted to protest again, but it was useless to argue with a woman like Abby. After two years of marriage, he was still dizzy with this dame and he would follow her anywhere.

Searching the crime scene provided very little. Abigail Rizzoli prided her ability to notice things that her husband could not, but this crime just wasn't going to yield those inspired observations. It was as simple as it could be. Jimmy was strangled. He was dumped in the wall, the killer possibly hoping that no one would notice and continue to build around the body.

_The Robber_ was bustling tonight. The music and the energy of the crowd almost made her forget what her objective had been.

She leaned back in her booth, sipping some whiskey and surveying her surroundings. She'd smirk at the dames who glanced her way. It took a few long moments, but the recognition would show on their surprised faces once realizing the devilishly dashing gentlemen in the suit and fedora was actually a woman.

In the courtroom, Abby was all lady and finesse and she rarely ever got to speak. Such was the nature of her occupational hazard. In the darkness of the booth, however, Abby was able to disguise her soft features and long hair just enough to fool most of the passersby. When she was scouting, putting her ear to the ground and listening for the bulls, she was this new persona. She wasn't Abigail Rizzoli, the lawyer. (As if they would notice her anyway.)

She was simply Abby, a women who'd grown tired of the limitations of her gender. Who'd taken her partners case and turned it on its head by finding Jimmy. Jimmy had been the key to ending one of the biggest mob families in Boston.

She hoped returning to _The Robber_ would return such luck again.

"Here's something you don't see every day," came a wickedly feminine voice. Abby glanced up to spy a strawberry blond in a dress that draped over her shoulders and showed off her back. There was a hat on her head, angled down and obscuring her eyes just a bit. She carried a lit cigarette in one hand while her other hand rested on her hip.

Abby sipped her whiskey, the burn giving her voice a bit of a raspy edge. "Don't like it? Take a hike."

"Oh, I like it, honey," the woman insisted, sliding into the booth across from her. "I can see why Jimmy would want to talk to you."

Maybe _The Robber_ was going to provide something after all.

"Jimmy?" Abby repeated curiously. "You knew him?"

"I did," the woman confirmed. She stole Abby's glass off the table and much to the lawyer's surprise watched her new companion swallow the rest of her glass in one go. She reacted to the liquid with a small cough before saying, "My name is Jo."

"Hello, Jo," Abby said, barely holding back the sneer. She wasn't much on sharing her alcohol with anybody. She extended her hand anyway and began, "My name is . . ."

"Abby, I know. Jimmy talked a lot about you," Jo said, setting her hand into the lawyers. Abby quirked an eyebrow as she gave a light squeeze in greeting. Jo smiled broadly and said, "Nice to finally meet you."

Their hands separated, leaving Abby with a somewhat empty, cold feeling at losing physical contact with Jo. She didn't understand or appreciate how unhinged this woman was making her feel, but she couldn't dismiss the gal. Not yet. Not when it involved her (now dead) key client.

"And what were you to Jimmy?"

"He was my brother," Jo answered sadly. "Our father owns this place."

Abby stiffened. "Your father? He owns _The Robber_?"

"It's no accident you found Jimmy here. He wanted to talk to you. He saw an opportunity."

Abby sighed inwardly. "You were the voice on the phone."

"You _are_ good."

"The anonymous tip about a rival gangbanger inside the Cirrillo camp, it came from you? So you and Jimmy set me up and for what? To help your father kill off the competition? Well, look where we are. You used me _and_ your brother to wipe out another crime boss and you failed. How does it feel?"

"See it how you must, but we only did what we had to. Ours have been dying _first_," Jo said rigidly. "Eye for an eye, Mrs. Rizzoli."

With narrowing eyes and a growing distaste in her mouth, Abby said, "Oh, yes. Killing someone is the exact solution I come up with in response to _killing_."

"Killing is an unfortunate hazard in our world, but we're not savages. There is an honor code amongst the men in this town. There should be a certain level of respect between all the families. We don't kill just to satisfy some bloodlust, you have to believe me on that."

"I don't _have to_ believe anything you say, lady," Abby huffed.

Jo smiled. "No, you don't, I suppose. You're an upstanding citizen with no skeletons in her closet, isn't that right, Mrs. Rizzoli? So what's with the men's clothing anyway? Make you feel powerful?"

"No one is a saint." Abby had averted her eyes down and away now. This Jo was both a blessing and a curse. She also talked too much. "And quit with the Mrs. Rizzoli crap. Mrs. Rizzoli is my overbearing mother-in-law."

"Ah, yes. Your husband. Bobby, right?"

Jo was all grins and confidence again, smoke swirling around her head. She removed her hat and the pin in her hair, the move both liberating and undeniably sexy. Abby could never imagine her unruly locks of hair ever falling over her shoulders as perfectly as Jo's just had. Abby watched her new companion with intrigue.

"What would Bobby do if he knew you were sitting here with me?" Jo mused aloud.

Abby smiled now. "He'd shoot you. Then arrest you."

"Why haven't you done so?"

"Arrest you?"

"Shoot me," Jo clarified.

"I'm a lawyer, not a cop," Abby replied. "If Jimmy had been truthful about who he really was, I would have helped him anyway. I don't like your family or your business, but I'm a good judge of character. Jimmy was a good man."

Jo's confident mask faltered then. "I hardly doubt if Jimmy had been truthful about his lineage that you would have helped him."

Abby shrugged. "I guess we won't now, will we?"

"Jimmy was next in line, you know," Jo said quietly. "He was ready to make our business legit, but he wanted to get rid of our other problem before starting fresh. Seeking you out had been his best hope. An intelligent lawyer with an inside track. It was his hope to end this without violence."

"Showering me with compliments won't get anywhere with me," Abby huffed. "But buy me another drink and maybe we'll become the friends that Jimmy wanted us to be."

"You help me avenge Jimmy's death and you'll never pay another cent in this place again," Jo assured.

Abby did like the sound of endless drinks. The whole avenging bit, though, she wasn't too sure set well with her. She whipped out a cigarette of her own and before she could blink, a light appeared in front of her. Jo was at the ready and Abby leaned forward, a little puff followed and soon she was her own chimney stack.

"This really doesn't seem like your kind of spot."

Abby chuckled. "It is on days like today. Just one thing bothers me. Why me? I'm not the lead in this trial. I certainly don't get to speak with the witnesses or address the jury or get to do much of anything without going through the partners first."

To this Jo's smile grew quite large. "You know, Mrs. Rizzoli. There are just some places that a woman can go that a man simply cannot. Jimmy was wise enough to know this."

Abby couldn't help the grin, though she was not sure about why she was doing so. She should've been upset that Jo called her Mrs. Rizzoli again. She should've walked out once she learned the truth about Jimmy and his sister. In fact, she was quite confident she didn't want to indulge this Jo any further or speculate as to what she meant with her last statement, but the tone was clear.

The game was changing in Boston and Jo was about to enlighten her on all the new rules.

It was time for Abigail Rizzoli to go all in.


	2. Chapter 1

Title: Play the Game published 10/5/2012 9:08:24 PM edit 7/17/2013 9:17:40 a7/p7

Author: e-dog

Notes: Finally some characters you'll recognize. I guess I should properly categorize this too. As I write more, I begin to narrow the focus. That, and only allows to pick two main categories. Thanks to the ones who favorite-ed, who followed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: It was her turn to host game night and everything was already off to a smashing start.

**1**

**Present Day Boston**

**This was going to be a disaster.** Just like most things that involved her mother.

Detective Jane Rizzoli shook her head as she viewed the mess in front of her. Her first thought? _I should've let Maura organize all this crap as it was being packed away._ Her second thought? _Who the hell talked me into a family game night?_

The dim lighting in the storage unit was hardly helpful as she trudged toward the back, per her mother's instructions. _It'll be way back there, Janie. You know, that's if I didn't throw it away in my haste to rid myself of any reminders of your father. _

So there it was. It was possible a good chunk of the Rizzoli children possessions might have been lost or broken or just plain discarded when Angela Rizzoli essentially lost her house and everything that came with it. Jane was a walking reminder of her father and while Mama Rizzoli would never say such a thing, Jane understood it would be normal and expected for her mother to resent the existence of her children for just a little while.

After jamming her toe a few times, ducking a wayward box and bumping elbows with what had to be a cast-iron skillet, she settled on some boxes labeled "KIDS". For once Angela Rizzoli had done some manner of organizing and Jane couldn't have been more grateful. Grateful and humbled to see a box set aside just for them. It served to give Jane the knowledge that her mother still appreciated when the times were good and they were marginally happy with one another.

"Oh my . . . look at you," Jane marveled. It was still here. Amongst all of her other meaningless childhood commodities was the game _Clue_ and it was still in tip top shade. She blew on it to clear some dust from the lid and then opened it up. She examined the contents closely and decided with great satisfaction that every piece was there. Perfect.

She whirled around in excitement and went to leave, but momentarily forgot where she was. The box she ducked earlier was sticking out just enough to blindside her. Jane rocked the stack it was resting on and as she lost her footing, that stack fell with her. There were now newspapers and magazines fluttering about. Her board game scattered on the ground.

"Great," she mumbled, feeling what was most likely the candlestick jamming her in the ass. "Can't just one thing go right in my life?"

It was her turn to host game night and everything was already off to a smashing start. Rather than repurchase a game she's had since birth, she decided to come here. That's right. To save a few pennies, she decided to tackle this mess that used to be her life so that she could share with her friends the one memorable item from her childhood. Seriously, why would she be allowed to have this?

Jane pushed the old newspapers aside in frustration only to find a page of it stuck to her sweaty palm. She peeled the scrap away to discover an old photograph attached. Always the curious one, she flipped over the photo to spy the name "Abby" scrawled on the back. She flipped it back around to the front and frowned. She looked oddly familiar.

"Now why would Ma have a picture of you? More importantly, _who_ are you?"

Eerie music suddenly filled the small unit, startling her. Oh. Just the cell phone. She answered it while hastily trying to gather up the pieces to her game.

"What, Ma?"

_Okay. There's Colonel Mustard. _

"Yes, I found it. I just managed to destroy the whole place in the process. . ."

_The pistol. . . _

"Ma, calm down. I didn't break anything . . . yet." She paused in her efforts to clean up and listened for half a second. "Really? Ma, I can't have family game night at Maura's if I'm the one hosting it! My apartment is not too small!"

Her mother wouldn't stop talking. She never stopped talking.

Jane's last thought? _Strike me down, Lord. Just do it already. _

Maura Isles slipped in past Jane carrying several containers.

"I hope this is sufficient," she commented.

Jane smiled. "I'm sure it's fine. Here, let me." The containers were taken from Maura's hands and she was definitely grateful for the reprieve. More so, she was happy she hadn't dropped any of them, boldly deciding to carry everything at one time to avoid another trip back to the car. That was hardly a move Maura Isles would have attempted prior to meeting Jane Rizzoli. She wasn't one to consider herself lazy in any sense of the word, but Jane had this urgency about her that rubbed off on the other people around her.

Even people like the Maura, who usually had the patience of a saint yet couldn't wait to start spending the rest of her evening at Jane's.

"I really do appreciate this," Jane said, setting down everything on the counter. "I spent so much time cleaning up Ma's junk; I didn't have time to stop for food. Oh, Maura, is that gnocchi?"

"Of course."

"You're the best."

"Always happy to help, Jane."

"I know, but thanks anyway."

"So, will _he_ be joining us?" Maura asked teasingly, hanging her coat in the closet. As she did this, she noticed one of her scarves hanging on the inside of the door. She had wondered where that disappeared to.

"He?" Jane repeated. "You mean Casey?"

"Of course. You did say he was in town."

"No, I said he was passing through and I don't want to talk about him," Jane replied in exasperation. "Really, just drop it."

"Why? I thought you liked him."

"I do. It's not that, Maura. I just get tired of talking to him through a webcam sometimes. It seems every man I meet that may be worth my time doesn't really have the time for me. They're traipsing around the world on secret missions or chasing crooks along river banks. I can't just meet someone who has a normal job with a normal routine who doesn't have to cancel an important meeting with a Senator to have dinner with me. God, I sound like a selfish bitch right now, don't I?"

"There is nothing wrong with being selfish, Jane. In fact, sometimes you're too selfless. Besides, Jorge had a normal job. . ."

"He was a nurse," Jane deadpanned.

"And a somewhat normal schedule. . ."

"He. Was. A. _Nurse_."

"Who wanted to not only have dinner with you, but he wanted to cook for you as well."

Jane gave her best 'really?' face. "Honestly Maura, you don't hear yourself when you speak, do you?" Maura found herself laughing out loud while Jane rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's right. Laugh it up, Chuckles. I'll sick Giovanni on you."

This time it was Maura's turn to make a face. Giovanni was everything she could ever ask for in a man . . . physically. His manners needed work however and his obvious handsomeness could not mask that unappealing aspect of his nature. Maura, however, was not about to let Jane have the last word. "Funny that you bring up the only other man in this city that thinks we're together."

Jane raised an eyebrow to that. "And whose fault is that?"

"Certainly not mine," Maura argued.

"Oh no, lady. _You_ told Jorge I was gay."

"You practically threatened to kill me if I didn't get rid of him. How else was I to do it?"

"How else was I to get rid of Giovanni?" Jane mocked playfully. "You're not going to win this one, Isles. I promise you that." She strode over to the fridge. "Want a beer?"

Maura nodded, listening to Jane crack open the two bottles. She took hers and Jane tapped the necks together in a toast.

"To us," Jane said, before taking a swig.

Maura smiled, "To us."

Jane chugged happily, the amber liquid a welcome reprieve. Maura sipped daintily, unable to not smack her lips at the bitter taste. Both of them enjoyed the quiet settling between them because for a few moments longer, it would just be the two of them and there was certainly nothing wrong with that.

"**Anybody need anything? **

That had to be the umpteenth time Angela Rizzoli had asked. Jane was going to say something, but she had already denied her mother about six ways from Sunday and she was still asking. Instead Jane rolled her eyes as Maura placated her mother by requesting another glass of wine.

"Thank you, Angela," Maura said.

"You're welcome, dear," Angela replied, but as she did this, she glared at Jane. Jane glared back as if to say, 'what?'

The evening marched on. Laughter played atop the festivities. Frost felt his way through the game, probably over thinking it a bit, but was having fun. He had never played before; a fact Jane had been relentlessly teasing him about all night. What aspiring detective had never played _Clue_?

"I wanted to play basketball," Frost defended himself. "Police work just sort of stumbled into my life. Growing up a military brat wasn't exactly inspiring, so trust, being a cop wasn't first on my list."

"You? Basketball?" Korsak laughed. "What are you, 5'2"?"

Frost frowned. "I'm 5'8 and you've got a lot of balls, Tubby. You hardly seem the athletic type."

"Football," Korsak boasted proudly. "Fullback in high school."

"I want pictures," Frost demanded.

"Guys, really?" Jane whined. "Can we measure penises later? Get back to the game?"

"Why?" Frankie chimed in, grinning mischievously. "Because everyone in here knows that you were two-time MVP in high school softball, broke the school's homerun record, and just about cracked open the skull of Lacy Henderson with a bat when she talked bad about Tommy that one time? Yeah, sis, your penis is definitely bigger."

"Stop saying that word!" Angela shouted from the kitchen.

"Ma!" whined all the Rizzoli children simultaneously. Tommy managed to utter 'penis' quietly out of spite.

"That is an impressive record, Jane," Maura added softly. Jane caught the eyes of her best friend and briefly wondered how she got so lucky to find another person willing to put up with her crazy family.

"Never a dull moment with the Rizzolis," Frost quipped playfully.

"You mean aside from her trying to kill Lacy with a bat, right?" Tommy chimed in. He was rewarded with a punch to the arm courtesy of his sister.

Glaring at Frankie next, Jane boasted, "Can't help it if I'm the best."

Tommy sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Janie is the best at _everything_ and if we don't get back to playing, she'll distract us from the game and win again."

**Well, even Jane Rizzoli couldn't be the best at everything.** Shortly after the commotion, Maura caught on quickly and handedly beat everyone. Maura liked to think she was no good at deception, but after tonight, Jane felt a comical wariness toward the Medical Examiner.

In fact, Maura had gotten so good at finding clues, she held up the photograph Jane thought was tucked into one of the kitchen drawers. Somewhat guiltily, Maura said, "I was looking for the plastic wrap."

"It's okay, Maur. I would only ever accuse my mother of purposely snooping," Jane replied jokingly.

"I'm still here, you know," Angela griped from the living room.

"Love you, Ma," Jane said, before returning her attention to the photo. "I found it in the storage unit. Not sure what it is, but something about her piqued my interest."

"You don't see it, Jane?" Maura queried, glancing at the photo.

Jane frowned. "See what?"

"This woman . . . she just has an uncanny resemblance to you," Maura said, examining the photograph closer by literally holding it up to her face. "Strong mandible, determined features. Lengthy metacarpals . . ."

"I don't have those . . . do I?" Jane glanced at her hands, because she was fairly certain Maura was referring to her hands. Ninety percent certain.

"Jane, just take another look," Maura insisted gently. "She reminds me of you."

So she did. After a few thoughtful moments, Jane did see some similarities. Why didn't she see them before? Long, unruly hair. Thin and lanky. The body type was certainly there, but maybe not so much the nose or eyes. She shrugged, "I guess she does kinda look like me."

"Who looks like you?" Angela snatched the photo and gasped. "Oh, Janie! Where did you find this?"

For some reason, Jane didn't like the way that question was asked. "In the storage unit. Why?"

Angela didn't miss the tone or the way Jane drew out 'why', but she was doing a damn fine job of ignoring it.

"This is Abigail! She, well . . . she married into the family. Got tangled up in some murder," Angela explained uneasily.

"Excuse me? Murder?" Jane sputtered. "What murder?"

"Oh, you and your detectives' ears. It happened way back in the '30s, sweetie," Angela sighed. "Nothing you should worry your little head about now. I, of course, never met Abby but from what I've been told, you're a spitting image of her."

Jane glanced at Maura briefly. She was quite interested in this little development of Rizzoli family history so she pressed onward, "How come I've never heard of her before?"

"Oh, Janie, why on earth would I regale you with stories of her ridiculous hijinks?" Angela scoffed. "I never wanted you to be a police officer and knowing of her would've just inspired you even more. It's not like my efforts stopped you anyway."

"Right. So tell me now," Jane insisted. "I wanna hear everything. The murder, the hijinks, everything."

"Jane . . .," Angela sighed.

"Ma . . .," Jane said back. "Just tell me."

"There's not much for me to tell," her mother hedged. "Bobby was her husband. (The brother of your father's father.) He was a detective who mostly worked mob related murders. She was one of the few women lawyers of her day, but naturally didn't have many clients. No one wanted a woman lawyer. Eventually, she settled down like most wives did. She had babies and her babies had babies. If I knew more, I would tell you."

Jane had to stop herself from snorting. She highly doubted her mother would divulge anything without some kind of coercion or bribe.

"What? She's on your father's side! He never talked much about them."

Great. Did she really want to try and pry information out of her lying and cheating father?

"Well, if she was a public official, it shouldn't be too difficult to research her," Maura piped up excitedly, completely missing the look of disdain from Angela. Probably one of the few times Jane's mother would ever be upset with Maura's helpful nature. "Like Angela said, there weren't many female attorneys. Not to mention mob murders were all over the papers. The library will have plenty of microfilm archives."

"So it's settled," Jane grinned, always happy to go on investigative capers with Maura. Especially ones that her mother didn't want her digging in to. Of course, fate had other plans. Both Jane's and Maura's phones signaled trouble.

"Looks like duty calls." Jane's disappointment was clear.

"Well, the past isn't going anywhere," Maura said encouragingly, a hand lying softly on her friend's forearm as she spoke. "I'll take your mother home, and then meet you at the crime scene."


	3. Chapter 2

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks to the ones who favorite-ed, who followed, who reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: John Easton couldn't help the feelings of dread overcoming him. He feared that he would begin to waste away, just like his dear Mary had, under the weight of this cruel accident. He was going to lose himself because in essence, he already had with her apparent death.

**2**

**June 1887 Boston**

**John Easton was beginning to look rather sickly. **His colleagues were beginning to see the loss in weight, but as a show of concern, he would be invited over to a few dinners and parties. He would politely decline.

The unkempt blond curls were out of control now, his beard grown in fully. He hadn't worn a beard in nearly five years and thus far, the new look wasn't becoming. A supposed friend of his had suggested he try the new barber down the way. Best haircut in town. Again, John refused as nicely as possible.

No one was really asking _how_ he was doing and John could only surmise that in some perverse way, people thought they were being courteous by keeping their silence.

John didn't mind too much. He knew that no one would understand anyway. How could they?

His sister, Mary, was now insane. Literally, unequivocally, mentally insane.

He was her primary caretaker. He had to be. It had always been the two of them, together. Ever since Grandma Sue died. He was four at the time. He barely remembered Sue Easton, but now he was getting constant reminders of her every day through Mary.

It was as if Mary had become the vessel in which Sue could communicate with him. A vessel; something right out of a ridiculous fiction novel.

This had been going on for five weeks. Five weeks since Mary disappeared in the Charles River, replaced by his long dead Grandmother Sue.

"You have _all_ your fingers!" John cried out, banging his fist on the table. Their dinner was all but forgotten. It wasn't as if the two of them had an appetite to begin with.

It was an argument they'd been having ever since the incident. Sue Easton lost a finger in a fight with a scythe. Quite an incredible story, but nothing to lose focus over. He had a point to make here and that was to _point out _that all ten fingers were moving and bending. All ten fingers were there.

"If you are truly Sue, as you claim, you would have lost that finger! You have them all, therefore, you are Mary!"

Mary was on the verge of tears again. It always ended in tears.

"My child, please! I am your Sue!"

"Stop it! Stop this madness!" John roared. "Mary and I have heard countless times of the story. You have memory of it because you've been told! Now please, just stop."

His final utterance was a plea.

When would it stop? When would he get his sister back? Surely, even Mary's mind couldn't keep up this charade for too much longer. She had to be fighting to get back to him.

"Don't hate me, please," his sister pleaded. She sounded so alone, so pathetic. So unlike the strong and outspoken Mary he remembered.

John shook his head. His tone softened. "You know I don't hate you."

Mary caught his gaze then, a brief flicker of fire and jealously. "You mean you don't hate _her_."

John Easton couldn't help the feelings of dread overcoming him. He feared that he would begin to waste away, just like his dear Mary had, under the weight of this cruel accident. He was going to lose himself because in essence, he already had with her apparent death. He fiddled with his fork, stared at the uneaten beans sitting before him.

"I suppose you can say I don't hate _her_," John agreed. "I don't hate Sue either. I didn't know her well enough to decide either way. I know she was the woman who took care of us when we had no one else. After her death, Mary and I became paupers; children of the streets. We lived with friends of Sue, bounced from house to house. It took some time, but we eventually found our footing. We grew and we prospered. We did that together."

The woman claiming to be Sue tried once more to keep from crying. "I didn't know, my dear, John. I had always imagined being the one that would help you grow. I never would have wished such disparity for either of you."

"You sound so sincere, so certain."

"I wish there was a way to convince you. If I could, I would switch back with Mary and bring you two back together."

John rose from the table. He might as well clean up the uneaten food, try to preserve it for another meal. "I will do my best to be gentler with you. The doctor says I can't force a miracle. That this memory loss is temporary. I just miss my sister, you must understand."

It appeared she may fight him once more. Perhaps dispute the memory loss. She did not.

"I understand more than you could know."

* * *

**Present Day Boston**

**Dr. Maura Isles had never been one to let distractions deter her from her work.** On a normal night, Jane wouldn't let anything distract her either, but she _was_ distracted. A certain piece of recently discovered Rizzoli family history had almost consumed her every single thought since learning of it, but alas, there was a dead body here. There was a job to be done.

The night air swirled about the crime scene, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Everything was terribly quiet, the raucous that was the city of Boston off in the distance making this crime just barely in her jurisdiction. A few more feet that way and Jane could've stayed home.

She could have stayed home and pumped her mother for more information on Abby. She would have had Maura to back her up. Jane's stubbornness combined with that unassuming Maura Isles way, they would've convinced Angela to spill everything.

What she wouldn't be doing was this. She wouldn't be forced to endure the insipidness of yet another senseless loss of life. There was no blood, no weapon, no leaves or shrubbery disturbed. There was next to nothing in what had to be the only patch of desert in Massachusetts.

Seriously. It was a six foot by six foot patch of earth. No grass. No flowers.

God, what time was it?

Maura had been very quiet, giving Jane's wandering mind even more reason to wander. She even sighed loudly and obnoxiously a few times to prompt Maura to work faster because if she didn't say something soon. . . .

Jane checked the time. Maura stayed silent.

It wasn't so much that Maura wouldn't guess a COD or whatever. Lately, those answers never seemed apparent or obvious. Jane was just frustrated because there was no evidence to be had! Maura's silence only proved that.

Her gut was suggesting a body dump, the evidence being the lack of evidence before them. Maura wouldn't confirm anything until she did a full autopsy, of course. It was moments like this Jane briefly wished for one of the other MEs.

Like Pike. (Did she _really_ just think that?) Yes, she did. Pike liked to pretend he was a brilliant detective. He would guess. He would surmise and project and infer and GUESS.

Maura didn't guess. Not willingly.

The detective sighed inwardly this time. It was a brief (and ridiculous) wish after all. Pike was an asshole and Jane appreciated Maura's diligence seeing how she spent less time chasing false leads. With Maura, she always got a straight answer, an honest answer. It was what made them a formidable team.

That and the other MEs really (really) hated working with Jane and the other detectives didn't have any patience for Maura.

"There appears to be some discoloration along his back," Maura said aloud, but almost to herself. She had lifted the body some, probably out of boredom while waiting on the coroner's van. _Finally she speaks!_

"And that means . . .?" Jane led gently.

"Hypostatis. The blood has pooled. He's been dead for at least six hours," Maura elaborated.

_Finally_. "So he was dumped," Jane smiled.

"I didn't say that. I merely confirmed he was on his back when he died," Maura corrected Jane, standing to her feet. "I can give you a more exact time of death when we get back."

"Actually, Maur, I was thinking. . ."

At that moment, the coroner's van pulled up and more CSU personnel exited. The gang was all here which meant they could leave. Jane led Maura gently by her forearm back to the car, Maura's puzzling look not a surprise. Normally, Jane would comb the crime scene with all the techs, but tonight she couldn't stay focused and Frost could handle it.

Sure, history could wait but a Rizzoli could not.

* * *

**This. Was. Boring. **

As exciting as it was to learn of Abby a couple hours ago, the actual research part was turning up very few results. The microfilm would mention her here and there, but nothing too significant. She was mainly a paper pusher. If not that, then co-counsel on some fairly low profile cases.

It disgusted Jane a bit that Abby's lack of recorded history may have had to do with her gender. Women of the 30s were generally housewives. Gone was that trademark spontaneity and independence of the 20s, replaced with the good little woman, the cook and caregiver. Those weren't bad qualities, necessarily. Jane just preferred a more aggressive approach to life. A less subservient approach.

Even still, Jane smiled. One of her relatives took on a male dominated career and was marginally successful. Abby's determination mirrored her own. Jane was proud to be related to her.

Just when Jane thought she couldn't stand to see another photo of some crazed mobsters' jail headshot, she saw her name. Abigail. It was a group photo, some lawyers and a few cops. She was towering over her lead counsel, a short man with wire frames. The People v. Dom Cirrillo.

"Here's something," Jane said aloud. Within a few seconds, Maura was peering over her shoulder as she summarized. "She was on a team of lawyers that led a case against the mob boss, Cirrillo. Their key witness was Jimmy Hastens."

Maura's voice was bright. "Excellent! We can run a search on both of them as well. Perhaps that'll give us more on Abby." Jane watched Maura return to her seat with a renewed vigor. It was contagious, the excitement of learning something new and she continued to read the article in front of her with an improved focus.

Sliding the film around, she read on about Cirrillo and his underground drug ring. If someone needed it, this man could get it. Abby found Jimmy by pure accident. Turned out he knew all the ins and outs because he was a runner for Cirrillo. They used Jimmy to lure and capture the mob boss. After a few articles on the Cirrillo case had taken up about twenty more minutes of her time, she heard a small gasp of surprise from Maura.

"What is it?" Jane asked, without taking her eyes off her screen.

"Jane, I don't want to upset you," Maura said softly. _Uh oh._

Jane got up immediately to spy what it was Maura had pulled up on her screen.

Jane read quickly. Jimmy Hastens was found dead in the wall of some half-finished museum. Whoa, that certainly couldn't have been good for the case at hand. It wasn't.

Jimmy Hastens had yet to testify against the mob boss therefore literally tanking the entirety of the prosecution's case. That was definitely not good for Abby or her team. There was an investigation into Jimmy's death with the main suspect being Torin Grady.

There was no proof that Cirrillo's crew had anything to do with it seeing how they couldn't tie Grady to any specific group, but a certain Rizzoli was not so easily convinced. With their star witness dead, it only made sense the defendant would whack the one guy who could convict him.

_Heck yeah, go Abby!_ The lawyer toiled away, it said, using more informants on the inside. After a few months, however, the case was closed when . . . when . . .

Jane slowly turned to Maura whose expression was very apologetic. She said, "I'm sorry, Jane."

"This can't be right," Jane murmured softly.

"Unfortunately, it's there in black and white," Maura said softly. "Jimmy was murdered, yes. Even if foul play had been proven, he was no longer around to put away this mob boss."

Jane furrowed her brow in irritation. "Jimmy's death is not the one I'm concerned with right now."

* * *

"**When you said murder, I didn't think you meant **_**she**_** was murdered!" Jane very nearly roared, watching Angela fidget under her glare. **"Ma, why did you lie? What happened to the 'she had babies and her babies had babies' nonsense? Why didn't you tell me that's how she died?"

"Abigail was headstrong and unforgiving and relentless . . . just like you Jane," Angela explained haughtily. She almost looked like she was on the verge of tears, but was somehow managing to hold back the flood. "Can't we just drop it?"

"What? No, Ma! She was brave for what she did! Why _wouldn't I_ want to know about her?"

"I don't _want_ you to be brave!" Angela snarled. The outburst shocked not only Jane. Maura had been silently observing from the kitchen table, the slight scrape of her chair against the floor indicated her surprise as well.

Jane sighed, "Ma, I'm sorry. I don't even understand why I got so upset to begin with."

"Janie, I'm proud of you. No matter what I am proud, but you're still my little girl and it kills me that I can't protect you." Before Jane could get another word in edgewise, Angela made a hasty retreat. God, why did her mother always have to lay on the guilt so thick?

"That went well," Jane cracked, her gaze falling on Maura.

"She'll be fine, Jane. I don't think a parent can ever get used to the idea of their child taking such high risks every day."

Maura didn't say it, but she didn't have to. Angela was still reeling from the self-inflicted gunshot wound the prior year. Still reeling from nearly losing her son to the hands of a dirty cop. Jane plopped down in a chair next to Maura, gave her a tired smile. "I can't change who I am."

"No one wants you to," Maura assured, resting a hand on one of Jane's. Jane grunted in response. Maura rubbed Jane's knuckles gently with her thumb, an appeasing gesture but still welcome. "You might as well stay here tonight. It's nearly 2 a.m. and you've got a new case to work."

"You've got autopsy," Jane said in agreement.

Jane wasn't quite sure when it became apparent that she lived in two places. It was such a natural transition, especially once she learned about the return of Hoyt, to retreat into Maura's inviting house. As big as it was, it was always warm and welcoming. It probably had more to do with the homeowner as opposed to the home decorator hired to make the space so comfortable.

Jane had a drawer in the guest room with a jersey to sleep in and spare work clothes. She smirked as she rummaged through it, sorting out the clothes she wanted to wear come morning. The suits looked pressed, folded neatly and coordinated with various blouses.

Maura did Jane's laundry again. How domestic of her.

A soft knock on the door brought Jane's attention to Maura, a mug in hand. She offered it up generously, "Jasmine green tea. I love to sip some of this just before bed. Has a very calming aroma. Also, no caffeine."

"What? You think I'll have trouble sleeping or something?" Jane joked, but truth of the matter was, she probably would. Maura knew her too well sometimes. Jane gratefully took the cup and sniffed the air. "Uh, it smells like flowers."

"As it should," Maura smiled. "Go ahead, try it."

Hesitantly, Jane sipped it. She couldn't help the screwed up expression on her face as she tried not to spit it out. "Ugh, it tastes like flowers!"

Maura's laugh sounded quite magical in that moment, repeating her earlier statement, "As it should!"

Jane smirked, forcing another sip down her throat. The second tasting yielded more green tea and a hint of sugar and less "flower", but she didn't tell her best friend that. She held eyes with Maura, a practice she had grown easily accustomed to. Sometimes their exchanges were silent, just like this. It was just the two of them.

Jane had suffered through many relationships in her life. Her family. Lovers. Partners. Even enemies. None of them compared to the unlikely connection she shared with Maura. It didn't feel like a chore, not like the others.

Jane knew the embrace was coming before Maura stepped forward, wrapped her arms around Jane and squeezed tight. She only allowed Maura this close.

"Whatever you need, let me know," Maura whispered sincerely. "I want to help find out what happened to Abby."

Jane nodded, and then pulled out of the embrace. She was feeling particularly emotional tonight, but for reasons she didn't really want to say. Like, how wonderful it was to have someone like Maura want to pursue the history of Abby with her. Like, how much she never wanted their embraces to end.

Instead, Jane was resigned to simply be herself and chicken out. Matters of the heart had hardly ever been her strong suit. "Good night, Maura."

The doctor nodded with a small smile before shutting the door as she walked out.


	4. Chapter 3

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks to the ones who favorite-ed, who followed, who reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: He came at her, knife bearing down and she caught his forearm. The blade was dangerously close to her chest, wavering between his determination to kill and her desire to live.

**3**

**1930s Boston**

**Abigail Rizzoli had shut her eyes tightly, felt her nostrils flaring as that familiar scent hit her hard. **Jo was close. Nose to nose, close. They were stuffed into a corner, between a bookcase and a wall. They were hiding in shadow, praying they would stay hidden. She also prayed that Jo's perfume wasn't so loud as to give them away.

Jo's perfume was always loud, but Abigail liked the smell so she never complained. She suspected with their close proximity, the fragrance was most likely rubbing off on her as well. She would smell like Jo for a week, not that she minded that either. She wasn't one to wear heavy perfumes anyway. She wondered if Bobby would even notice the change were she to wear such a fragrance.

Their breathing was even despite their nerves. Abigail rested her right hand on Jo's hip, the silky fabric beneath her fingertips screamed money. She briefly speculated on how many people died so that Daddy could buy his daughter this dress. It was little dilemmas such as this that made Abigail briefly second guess one of the best friendships she had ever forged.

Here she was a lawyer in the prosecutor's office with the daughter of a suspected felon and killer, hiding in his shady establishment while said suspected felon/killer was rummaging through his office looking for God knew what while they hid.

She honestly couldn't think of anywhere else she wanted to be.

Jo's hands rested on Abigail's chest, toying with a button on the blazer out of apprehension. They heard some more papers rustle then a low grunt of disappointment and finally the lights in the office went out. They were alone again.

Abigail heard Jo release a giggle.

"Shh, there could still be someone there!" Abigail hissed sharply. There were few things about this situation she found humorous.

"I assure you that my father will not return," Jo promised. "Now let's get back to snooping, shall we?"

In that next instant, Jo returned to the leather chair behind the desk. Abigail more cautiously stepped from behind the bookcase, careful not to bump the globe on the desk this time around. She sighed heavily and then said, "I really would hate for your father to find us in a compromising position in the office of his speakeasy."

"Compromising?" Jo laughed at the thought. "I crave for moments like this! To think you're my only true friend in the world and not once have you hugged me! If I'm ever to squeeze a hug out of you, it's to hide from my father in his office while we take a peek at his financial records."

"More peeking, less talking," Abigail admonished playfully.

"More play, less work," Jo countered, while her friend rolled her eyes. "So serious all the time, Abby. That pressure is going to kill you someday."

"I think we both know that if I die young, it will not be because I worked too diligently," Abigail replied.

"Well, I can officially say that my father has nothing useful here," Jo said with some disappointment. "His records here are all for _The Robber_ which despite what you may think, are all legitimate business_. _Maybe after Jimmy's murder, he decided to move all his other nefarious doings to hide somewhere else."

"Cirrillo hit you too close to home for his comfort," Abigail said another sigh forthcoming. "Then let's scram. I don't want to be in here any longer than we need to be."

"So paranoid," Jo said with a shake of her head. Her strawberry blond hair seemed to shimmer in the low light as she did this. "Honestly, if Daddy found us in here, he would merely think I was just playing."

"Playing?" Abigail repeated warily. "With what?"

Jo winked. "Guess."

Lord help her.

Abigail felt the smile forming, unabashedly appreciating (and envying) the beauty her friend possessed. Here was a woman free in so many ways that Abigail was not. Confident with her body, her movements, her speech. Abigail didn't lack confidence, of course. She just knew her talents were more about street smarts and less about manipulating an opponent with a shimmy shake of her hips. If it was one thing that Jo did well, it was work a room.

"Why haven't you considered being in pictures or something?" Abigail asked sincerely, checking the hallway before gently pulling on Jo to follow her out of the office. Once they were through the kitchen and out the back door to the alleyway, she got her answer.

"Oh, those things can't tell you everything," Jo answered. "They don't show the grit and the grime. How dirty life can be."

"I wasn't referring to the dirt," Abigail said with amusement. "That's the point of pictures, isn't it? To showcase the beauty in humanity?"

"Listen to you! Suddenly such an optimist!" Jo laughed. "Though, I must thank you for the compliment. I think you weaved it in there somehow. I'm happy you notice my flawless features."

"I wish you would stop embellishing my compliments," Abigail replied with a groan.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed!"

"I'm not!"

Jo was skeptical.

Abigail was beginning to fume. Or blush. She wasn't sure which. "I'm not embarrassed. Just learn to be more humble! It's something you could try."

"Abigail," Jo sighed, grasping the tall woman's wrist to pull her to a stop. They faced each other, the moon giving them their only source of light. It highlighted the high cheekbones on Abby's face and Jo couldn't help tracing an index finger along them. "Please, I think you are just as wonderful, if not more."

Jo reluctantly pulled her hand away from Abby's face, sensing the other woman's discomfort. Whatever this energy was between them, it was terribly confusing. It's just Jo was never one to shy away from feelings involving the heart. It seemed that Abby Rizzoli did nothing but run from them. And boy did she run with as much speed as possible.

Abigail averted her eyes downward, bashful. "Jo, I want to vindicate Jimmy, you know that. I just . . . I don't know . . ."

"Shh, please," Jo said, silencing her friend. "Let's just enjoy this calm, just this once."

And they did. Standing before each other, they said nothing. They held each other's gaze and pretended for a few short moments that they were passing strangers in the night. There was no mob, no cops, no crimes, and no deaths. The ever looming release of Cirrillo was approaching, but that was barely registering amongst this amiable peace.

It was just the two of them and nothing more.

* * *

**Present Day Boston**

"**I almost missed it," Maura mused aloud**, while Jane wrapped the paper thin gown around herself.

"Doc, I find it hard to believe you would miss anything," Jane commented, striding up to the autopsy table with that insurmountable bravado she seemed to always possess. The light was focused on the victim's mouth, the jaw stretched open as far as it could go. "By the way, breakfast was _great_."

Maura's smile could be detected, even with a mask on. "Do I sense sarcasm? Mask, please."

"Sarcasm? Nooo," Jane replied, this time the tone clear. She held the paper mask up rather than tying it. "Ma's icy glare and even more frigid tone gave breakfast that extra bit of sunshine it needed. Why do I need this on anyway?"

Jane leaned in a bit closer only to catch the whiff of something very strong and very wrong. She whipped her head back and exclaimed, "Gah, talk about morning breath. What did this guy eat?"

"It would seem he ingested quite a bit of seafood during his last meal," Maura supplied. "Hence, I was hoping the masks would help block some of the odor while I worked. Anyway, our victim suffered from bruxism. More than likely this occurred while he slept."

Maura didn't elaborate. Jane rolled her eyes. "Are you going to make me ask?"

"Teeth grinder," Maura supplied. "Look at how smooth his canines look. I scanned over his molars and incisors several times coming across food particles and just as I was about to shut the mouth, I spotted this."

Jane watched Maura stick her tweezers into the inside of the left cheek and then gently extricated a piece of blue fiber. Jane leaned back in, though not quite as close as before. "What do you think it is?"

"You know I don't guess, Jane," Maura scolded gently, placing the sample on a petri dish. "What it is exactly will take some testing, of course."

"Anything else of interest?"

"I went through his clothes again, no ID of any kind. More bruising became more obvious under these lights, if you look on his face and over his mouth. It's the shape of hand."

"He was suffocated," Jane gathered.

Maura nodded. "That was my conclusion, especially after finding the fiber inside his mouth. While the lab figures out what the fiber is, I'll attempt to identify him by sorting through dental records, compare his x-rays to the list of missing persons that have been reported in the last 24-48 hours."

"Okay, well, while your finest lab rats search through databases of teeth grinders, I've got this to show you," Jane began, tugging on Maura's arm and pulling toward the ME's office. "I read some more on Abby last night. From the stuff we brought back with us."

"I knew you wouldn't sleep," Maura sighed, hearing a classic Rizzoli whine when she stopped their progress to the office. "Just let me page one of the technicians about this evidence, then you can share."

* * *

_Something about this wasn't right, but since when did feelings of fear or apprehension ever stop Abby Rizzoli from getting what she wanted? Never. Tonight would certainly be no different. Besides, she was running out of time. _

_Since Jimmy's death, nothing had gone right. _

_Bobby was on the verge of losing his job and with all the corrupt lieutenants running around, she wasn't sure how much longer her husband could hold out. She might as well been let go from the prosecutor's office, regulating her to the archives and storage rooms. Of course they would find some way to blame her for the loss of Jimmy and therefore the case against Cirrillo. _

_To be frank, the Rizzoli's were a crapshoot away from living on the streets. _

_They had needed this case. They needed to find justice for Jimmy. To keep Cirrillo where he belonged. _

_Abby glanced up at the night sky. The moon sure seemed big tonight, its reflection off the Charles River helping to light her way through the woods. It couldn't be too much further, his letter somewhat vague in its directions. _

_ It's buried by the oak closest to the Charles, an "X" scrawled into the trunk. There you will find what you need to take down Cirrillo. _

_Abby wasn't sure what "it" was supposed to be. She certainly hoped it was all Jimmy was proclaiming it to be. The means to take down Cirrillo for good. _

_The letter was written in Jimmy's obvious script, but the circumstances of how this note ended up in her hands was by chance. Or not. Joanna had clearly been waiting for an opportunity to talk with her. Abby just made it easy by walking into The Robber that night. After Joanna made promises of free alcohol any time, any day, they became a team.  
_

_First a look into her father's financial records. When that turned up nothing, in came Oscar Dye.  
_

"_Jimmy asked me to hold onto this," Oscar said, his voice laden with sadness. "I'm gonna miss that kid." _

"_We all will," Joanna said. _

"_He said if he ended up not making it, to give this to you," Oscar went on to explain. "Honestly, he gave this to me so long ago, I darn near forgot about it. I hope it helps you with getting that bastard." _

_Joanna trusted the man, so Abigail felt obliged to feel the same. Joanna said it was one of the few ways the siblings could communicate with one another without the prying eyes of their father's gang. Oscar enjoyed being the middle man, with hopes of getting the inside scope on all mob related stories._

_So here Abby stood, a vague letter in her pocket and a sudden lost sense of direction. _

_There was a soft snap of a limb behind her. _

_Feeling a presence she dodged her attacker. The big man fell on his face; she couldn't really get a good look at him. _

_Damn, she was usually much better at detecting a tail! She attempted to scramble away, but his meaty hand wrapped around her ankle and yanked her down. So he wanted to fight, eh? _

_She kicked him in the face with her free foot, sending him away. She then jumped to her feet and charged him, forcing them to tumble down a little hill and toward the river. If Joanna had come along, she could have insisted they run, not fight. Joanna liked the idea of living to see another day. Abby did not like running from a fight. _

_A few well-placed punches had Abby with the upper hand until they reached the water. _

_He shoved her under the surface, tried to hold her down, but she was proving to be quite strong. Stronger than he would have expected. She broke free of his grasp and just in the nick of time. He swiped at her with a blade, missing by mere inches. _

"_Who sent you?" Abby managed to grind out between her teeth. No answer. _

_He came at her, knife bearing down and she caught his forearm. The blade was dangerously close to her chest, wavering between his determination to kill and her desire to live. _

Maura Isles had to admit that her friend wove a nice tale. While the players in the game seemed credible, she was sure Jane was embellishing the events a bit. She had begun scanning the newly found articles by one Oscar Dye and his exclusive coverage of the Charles River incident and the Cirrillo trial.

"Who was Joanna, again?" she asked.

"I love this, you know," Jane smiled. "Finding these connections is probably my favorite part. Her last name was Hastens."

"The sister of the deceased?" Maura said, also smiling. "How interesting."

"I know," Jane said, somewhat giddily. "The sister couldn't prove it, but she suspected the same man that killed her brother somehow got to Abby as well."

Maura couldn't help but be drawn in. It seemed that Abigail Rizzoli, while her life was brief, was definitely book worthy. Maybe even a little chaotic. The mob had been bearing down on her, she had befriended her client's sister to bring closure to her case and she had a detective husband also by her side.

"The article says there was a struggle," Jane concluded. "But they don't know for sure who attacked her or how she drowned. There doesn't seem to be any follow up to her murder either. No other stories, one lousy piece of evidence. A piece of water damaged paper that may have been a map, but no other evidence. It's like everyone gave up when her body was eventually found. Case closed."

Maura's expression was sympathetic. "I know that must be tough for you to read, Jane."

"I dunno, Maura," Jane sighed, trying to lean back and frowning at her current state of discomfort. This was probably the most uncomfortable chair imaginable. "I can't believe Bobby wouldn't look into it. That the police department would just look the other way and do nothing. She deserved better than that."

"History has shown that the early days of the mobster constituted some highly corruptible times," Maura added, hoping to help explain the oversights. "Maybe Bobby couldn't dig deeper into the death of his wife because his higher ups had also been bought by the mob."

Jane scoffed. "Part of me wishes that to be true. The alternative would be that Bobby _was_ one of the corruptible officers and had something to do with it." She reached in the breast pocket of her blazer to reveal the photo of Abigail Rizzoli. Their resemblance was uncanny, almost scarily so. With a sad smile, she brushed a thumb over the matte finish and then pocketed it once again.

The microfilm could tell her no more, the paper trail had ended with Abby's obituary. Jane's curiosity was still strong, however. She just couldn't let Abby's name disappear, not again. There had to be something, someone, anything that would give Abby the proper recognition she deserved.

At this point, however, giving Abby due honor might not be possible.

* * *

"**Are you cold?" **

**Not waiting for an answer, Jane immediately shed her blazer and wrapped it around Maura's shoulders. **Maura gratefully tugged the garment around herself, not regretting joining Jane out here. She never regretted anything that involved Jane. She merely wished she had taken Jane's advice on more sensible shoes. "Thank you, Jane."

"I could've waited for Frost," Jane argued weakly. "This is no place for someone like you."

"No. _You_, my impatient friend, could not wait for Frost," Maura said with a smile. "As for what places are best suited for me, I think that's best for me to decide. Besides, I like gumshoe-ing with you."

"Gumshoe-ing?" Jane chuckled as she scanned the area, always one to be aware of her surroundings at all times. One could never tell what boogie men lay in wait out there.

Unconsciously leading Maura with a hand on the small of her back, Jane worried to herself about keeping her best friend safe. Frost could handle himself. Maura could not. With those thoughts in her mind, she masked her protective nature with some well-placed gratitude, "Well, for the record, you're pretty good at gumshoe-ing, Dr. Isles. Without you, we wouldn't be here."

Jane could swear the ME was blushing or maybe that was wishful thinking. Maura didn't brag, but she knew she was smarter than your average genius.

So, the reason the two of them were trekking along mucky riverbeds?

Maura had found some blue rubber in the victim's teeth during the autopsy, a sign that the victim had tried to bite his attacker, the only clue they had found in this whole case. The material was common with the gloves worn by oyster farmers (of all things). This discovery finally led to an ID of their John Doe aka Jim Nolan. He had been reported missing by his roommate a couple of weeks ago, who also happened to be an oyster farmer along with Nolan.

Naturally, the actual location of these farmers was unknown by the organization they worked for.

"They're working the Charles," was the first answer they got. After a little convincing (and a menacing flash of her badge), Jane at least got some better coordinates and a general direction in which to walk.

There was another set of rookies walking in the opposite direction of them trying to cover as much ground as possible. It was all the department could spare today. Looking for a group of environmentalists, no matter what the crime, wasn't exactly high priority.

Jane stepped on something hard. She picked up the object and made a face.

"Oysters are natural filter feeders. In fact, an oyster can filter up to 30 gallons of water a day," Maura supplied, catching Jane's mixed and questioning expression. "The Charles is now open in some areas for swimming and recreation. It took nearly five decades to be clean enough again. It's amazing what nature can do."

"Yeah, well, I'm not sure I'll ever eat oysters again now knowing what it is _they_ eat," Jane frowned, tossing it back into the river.

Some voices up ahead caught their attention. They had finally found their group of environmentalists. The moment Jane flashed her badge, however, their new suspect took off and Jane began her foot race after him. _Why the hell do they always run?_

"Jane!" Maura's shouting was useless, she knew this. If Jane didn't go after their suspect now, they might lose him forever. She did, however, have enough gumption to remember her cell phone. Hoping for a signal, she thought she should at least try to contact the other officers for help.

Meanwhile. . .

"Scott Crane! Stop!"

Scott was not stopping and unfortunately, he knew this terrain well. Running through the woods wasn't necessarily a new thing for Jane, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it all that much. The mud was slapping against her calves and she very nearly lost her footing several times before Scott was within grabbing distance. A few more steps and then she tackled the bastard. It was times like these she appreciated those Insistent Maura Isles Early Morning Runs.

Rolling her eyes and wrangling to get Scott under control, she imagined that her suit had seen better days and cleaner river banks.

"This would be heck of a lot easier. . ." Jane started. His fist connected with her nose abruptly ending her sentence.

Jane landed on her back, feeling the blood trickle down over her upper lip. She glared and prayed for Scott's sake that her nose was not broken. Scott was not finished, suddenly finding some balls after landing his sucker punch. Jane rolled to her left and scrambled to her feet. She pulled her gun.

"I said 'stop'!" Jane yelled, her aim on his chest.

He held up his hands, frozen in place by not just the gun, but the sound of her voice. "Really, Scott?"

Her perp just shrugged. Typical.

He was a mere few feet in front of her and his chest heaved with exertion from their little rumble. It was then his eyes grew wild and Jane just knew that Scott wasn't going to make it back with her.

He advanced, while reaching behind his back. Did he have a gun? Jane didn't know. She didn't think so, but her split second hesitation was too long. She fired, but only up at the clouds as Scott charged her and grabbed her gun.

_Damn it, Rizzoli! _

The gun was fired again, at who or what she wasn't sure and as they struggled for dominance, Jane felt the loose dirt and sludge give way beneath them. They tumbled down a slight hill and into cold, flowing water.

The current wasn't too strong, but then again the Charles wasn't known to be a violent river. Besides, what Jane feared more was the cold. It was late Fall in Boston, the temperature having dropped significantly and the frigid temps shocked her. While the two struggled with each other and to stay afloat, the chill began to seep into her bones. Worst yet, she had lost her gun.

Her head went under briefly and for a moment, she thought that sniveling creep was trying to pull her under. Then she bobbed back to the surface and realized he was panicking. She wanted to tell him to stop, to stay calm, but her voice was non-existent. She was pulled under again, water rushing into her airways. She kicked and pushed, breaking the surface again. She couldn't find the bank, she couldn't see land. She couldn't really hear anything but water. How did they end up out this far?

She was under again, but this time she got a decent lung full of air before it happened. She strained to see through the murky brown water, but it was clear that Scott had latched onto her ankle. He was not letting go and they were sinking.

She needed air.

_C'mon, you psycho, let go! _

For an oyster farmer, Scott seemed to have a serious lack of swimming skills. What a freakin' tool.

_Just fight harder_, she told herself. _You're running out of air. . ._

As her vision began to blacken, she also began to realize that she was very nearly out of time.


	5. Chapter 4

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks to those who followed, favorite-ed, reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Maura nodded, not sure she could trust her voice or words. She couldn't remember feeling this kind of uncertainty with anyone in her life before.

**4**

**Maura Isles was eventually forced to release her best friend's hand.** When they had shocked Jane's pulse back, she couldn't have felt more relieved, but this was only the first part of the struggle. Now Jane was being wheeled to the ER, off to battle what Maura could only suspect would be mild hypothermia and severe lung trauma.

Jane was so cold. Skin a blue-grey.

_Hypothermia._

Maura had estimated the river's temperature to be somewhere around 50 degrees, given the time of year. Jane had been out there for ten . . . no fifteen minutes. Was it longer? Maura had seen where they had fallen in, watched as Jane struggled to keep them both afloat.

"Jane!" she yelled. She was seconds away from dropping all her belongings and shedding unnecessary clothing when a bright light reflected from somewhere, blinding her. Perhaps whatever bit of the sun that was shining through the trees was bouncing off the water.

By the time she regained focus, Scott's body had washed up on the bank. A quick check of his pulse confirmed he was dead. Maura ran along the bank and then saw her.

Jane was using whatever strength she had left to grip a fallen tree trunk. After that, the events were a whirlwind of panic and rescue. The paramedics did what they could to keep her awake, but she was unconscious by the time she was loaded into the ambulance. Her skin was so pale, so grey.

Not unlike some of the victims that went through Maura's morgue.

_Stop it, Maura. _

Unconsciousness was considered a late symptom in hypothermia, she thought, obviously her brain unable to turn off. Maybe the diagnosis should be upgraded from mild hypothermic to severe. Severe could lead to fatal.

No. No, she would not die. Jane was getting warmer by the second. Brain damage would be more a concern now. Loss of motor skills was likely.

No. She would be good as new. She always was.

Jane Rizzoli had nearly drowned. Jane Rizzoli had just knocked at death's door once more and managed to shut it again. She was an incredible spirit. She was . . . amazing.

Sliding down the wall to the floor, Maura allowed herself this time to break down. Alone in the hallway and with a hand over her mouth, the tears fell as she waited on Frankie and Angela to arrive.

Her moment to let go, however, was cut short.

"Miss, a tissue?" came the voice of a young man.

Maura glanced up. He appeared to be thirty something, reddish brown hair that matched a tanned complexion. His round face was handsome enough with striking grey eyes that seemed to be doing nothing but taking her in. She might have actually been offended by the scrutiny had she not been so overwhelmed already.

She took the offered wisp of paper and dabbed at her eyes. She managed a strong, "Thank you." She did not expect her voice to even work, so she was happy her words were clear.

"My name is Richard," he said, his smile oddly comforting. "Let me help you off the floor. Get you to a chair?"

He offered his hand this time and Maura found herself accepting his kindness again. He led her down the hall; in the opposite direction they had wheeled Jane, toward a set of chairs. They lowered themselves and then sat in silence for a moment.

"I will be fine, thank you," she insisted. "I'm just waiting on her family."

"The cop that nearly drowned?" he asked. His gentle voice belied the hard truth the question posed. She nearly started to cry again. Quickly he added, "I'm sorry. Clearly, she is more than your work colleague."

Maura eyed the man warily now. "Do I know you?"

"Not really, but I've been following your work for some time Dr. Isles," Richard admitted, having the good grace to appear bashful. "I'm sorry to take advantage. I'm a reporter. Sort of."

"A reporter?"

"If I could just . . ." he began.

"I have nothing more to say to you," Maura said stiffly. She rose from her chair. "If you would excuse me . . ."

"I am sorry, Dr. Isles," Richard said again, also rising from his seat with her. His sincerity did cause Maura to pause. "I don't really have that bloodhound instinct my uncle had, you know? He rarely showed any compassion to those who were in turmoil, but if you wish, I'll step back. I hope Detective Rizzoli recovers."

"I'm sure her family would appreciate the space," Maura said.

Richard nodded. "I may not be a bloodhound, but I won't stay back for long. Detective Rizzoli is a hero in this town. Boston loves its heroes."

"Even heroes deserve privacy," Maura replied. She turned away from him then, stalked off in the direction of the ER.

Richard hung back long enough for Maura Isles to disappear around a corner. He approached a nurses desk, gave his most winning smile. "Sheri."

A young blond woman smacking gum glanced up. "Richard. Still chasing ambulances?"

"They do lead to the best stories," Richard said, not denying his methods. He slipped his business card across the desk. "Just be a doll, give me a ring when Detective Rizzoli is moved to a room, okay?"

"Whatever Richard," the woman replied, rolling her eyes.

* * *

**Maura felt the hand within hers squeeze and her head bobbed up from her chest.** How could she almost fall asleep? She needed to be awake, not just for Jane. Angela was curled up in a nearby chair, snoozing in a fitful manner. It had been a full twelve hours since Jane was admitted to the ICU with no signs of her waking. A coma was not something anyone wanted to consider, but that outcome was looking very likely.

Frankie and Tommy were outside. Only two visitors were allowed inside at one time, the two brothers gracious enough to let Maura be the number two with Angela. They had to wear blue gowns and gloves, wiping their hands down with antibacterial liquid before entering the room. Until Jane was awakened, it would be imperative to try and reduce the possibility of passing germs. Decrease chances of any infections.

Maura gently intertwined their fingers again, guessing that she had imagined Jane rousing from sleep.

A grunt from the woman lying next to her had her eyes snap back to the bed. It wasn't her mind playing with her! Jane's eyes were opening slowly, as if her eyelids were bricks. She was awake!

"Jane . . .," Maura whispered her voice barely audible, hoarse from the stress of the night. She used her free hand to fix hair on Jane's head that both she and Angela had already fussed with a hundred times in the last twelve hours. "Oh, Jane. You're awake."

Jane attempted to speak, but could not. Maura immediately knew what would help, reaching across her body to the nearby nightstand with her free hand while still holding onto Jane's hand tightly with the other. She grabbed the cup of water with straw and brought it to Jane's lips. After a sip and a cough, that raspy voice managed a very weak, "Thank you."

Maura nodded, not sure she could trust her voice or words. She couldn't remember feeling this kind of uncertainty with anyone in her life before. It was strange, new, exciting. It was weird feeling this rush as her friend was waking from such a traumatic event. She wondered if this feeling was normal.

What was also weird was Jane's curious expression, as her eyes bore into Maura's for a moment and then traveled down to their linked hands as if in a state of disarray. Jane slowly extricated her hand from the ME's.

"I'm sorry . . .," Jane said slowly. "It's just . . . I don't. I can't remember. . ."

Maura didn't need her to finish. She already could see where this was going. Hesitantly, fearfully Maura said, "Me? You don't remember me?"

Jane shook her head in the negative.

Maura took in a shuddering breath, felt the cooling air on her empty hand. Her best friend had forgotten her.

_Brain trauma. _

It was to be expected.

"What do you remember?"

Jane shut her eyes for a moment, brought a hand to her face in an attempt to scrub the memories back in. "Uh, that grifter . . . he and I went under the water. . ."

Maura felt encouraged that Jane remembered her occupation, but how could she not remember their friendship? They were an integral part of each other's professional and personal lives.

Wait a minute. What did Jane call their suspect? The term 'grifter' was odd, even for Jane.

"Yes, the suspect in our murder case. He didn't make it."

"Murder? Suspect?" Jane repeated, now her confusion even more evident. "Okay, babe. I think it's time you started explaining what the hell is going on."

"Babe?" Maura repeated almost in disgust. "I beg your pardon? Jane, what has gotten into you?"

"And who the hell is Jane?"

Maura frowned. "You are. You're Jane."

"Okay, that's it. I need to get outta here," Jane (or Not Jane as it was) began to fiddle with her IV. As she fidgeted, she continued, "This is balled up, you got that? I don't know you and I'm sorry you waited here with me and all, but you've got me mistaken for someone else. My name is not Jane, its Abby."

"Abby?" Maura repeated in disbelief.

"Janie?"

Angela was blinking away the grog, looking at her daughter curiously.

Maura caught Not Jane's glare as she threw up her hands in surrender to the IV and then pointed at Angela, "Now who's this broad? How many of you think my name is Jane?"

* * *

**Frankie Rizzoli secured Jane's wrist to the bar on her bed with the handcuffs.** He had barely tied on his gown and his gloves weren't quite fitted right either, but he had little time to fix everything properly. His mother was crying and his little brother was trying to console her and Jane. . . well, shit, Jane was acting crazier than normal!

He tried to avoid the searing glare that his sister was giving him as he said as calmly as possible, "Jane, I'm sorry, but you nearly broke Ma's arm and you kicked me . . . you know, in the family jewels. This is for your own good."

Maura was behind him in the doorway, assuring the nurse that she was a doctor and that Jane was just having a disagreement with her brother.

Frankie sighed. He knew what 'disagreements' with Jane were like and while some had been physically straining, nothing compared to this!

The nurse found it odd Jane seemed to be so agile after the trauma she just suffered.

Maura grimaced when she heard Jane shout. "Detective Rizzoli is very . . . spirited when it comes to her health."

Maura shooed the nurse out, who was still unconvinced and said she would retrieve the doctor. And maybe security too if the detective kept this up. Maura worriedly told Frankie, "We need to do something!"

"I'm trying okay?" Frankie said, securing Jane's free arm above her head. "She's really feistier than normal, alright?"

Jane very nearly spat at him. "Who are you working for? Is it Cirrillo? What game is this?"

Frankie watched his sister grow even more wild, disoriented. What had gotten into her? Why would she ask him such a question? What was a Cirrillo?

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Maura mess with the IV and slowly, Jane's eyes grew heavy. She became less vocal, less everything and then drifted off into dreamland. Frankie turned to Maura then. "What was that?"

"A sedative", Maura replied absently.

"No, not_ what_ you gave her. _Who_ was that? That was not Jane."

Maura frowned, studying the woman in the bed. "No, that was not."

"What is she going on about? She sure as hell sounds pretty convinced that she's this other woman. That she doesn't know us or where she is. Maura, this is scaring the shit out of me."

"I don't believe I've ever heard of a near drowning victim waking up with this kind of head trauma," Maura mused aloud, taking a light to Jane's face. She opened each eye and peered at each one. She even looked at her throat, but what that was going to tell her she didn't know. She just wanted to be doing something! Jane was suffering from a severe psychosis.

"Ma's so upset; she can't even sit in here!" Frankie exclaimed in exasperation. "Why is this happening?"

"I think I know why," Maura replied slowly. "The night we found Nolan's body was also the night Jane found a picture of a woman in Angela's storage unit. Her name was Abigail. She's a relative of yours who was killed in the 30s."

Frankie sighed, rolling his eyes. "So she thinks she's this Abby?"

Maura shook her head. "She doesn't just think it, Frankie. She _believes_ it. It's actually really fascinating."

"Maura. Nothing about this is fascinating," Frankie deadpanned.

"Sorry," Maura apologized. "I do suggest, for now, we allow Jane to be Abby. Otherwise, we may have to restrain her with more than just handcuffs."

Frankie laughed for the first time since this whole thing began. "I've always wanted to put Janie in a straightjacket."

Maura did her best to give Frankie a disapproving stare, but she briefly wondered if they might need a straightjacket for her friend. Her outburst wasn't necessarily violent. It was fueled by fear, not by anger. Maura felt a bit helpless, trying to decipher the other emotions she saw play across Jane's face, but the fear she was able to grasp easily. Jane (or Abby) was definitely afraid.

"I need to be able to communicate with her when she wakes up," Maura deduced aloud. "Frankie, I hope Jane wakes up as herself, but if she doesn't I might know a way to talk to her. I'll have to find the research we did on Abby Rizzoli. Wait here until I get back?"

Frankie looked reluctant, but nodded his willingness to help. "Just hurry back. I don't need her foaming at the mouth and getting all She-Hulk on me, okay?"

* * *

**Tommy Rizzoli slammed into the body before he saw it. **He apologized meagerly, bashfully. His morning had been nothing but his Ma crying, his sister screaming that she was someone else and his father ringing his cell phone every five minutes. The man was just too ashamed to show up.

"To hell with him!" Frankie had said. "Janie needs her family, _all_ of her family!"

Tommy was the only one still speaking to their father, but even he had to agree with Frankie on this. Their father should be here.

With his mother calmed down enough, he mumbled something about getting coffee and made his escape. That's when he bowled over this poor man.

"It's okay, friend," the man said. "My name is Richard. I'm a reporter. I used to be. I guess right now I'm a contributor to a reputable newspaper."

"Yeah? That so?" Tommy said. He was ready to be done with this guy already. Last thing he wanted was to be misquoted by a reporter.

"Yeah, you probably heard of it. _The Global Update_," Richard continued on. "I got to confess, Tommy. I ran into you on purpose. I hear you got a sister in there who don't quite know who she is."

Lord, nothing in a hospital was sacred! Tommy glared, his words very nearly a growl at this point. "Are you kidding me? A tabloid? Well, here's your story. My sister is doing _fine_. Her family is here, we are going to take care of her and there is nothing for you to write about. Got it?"

"Funny. Her partner, Frost, said the same thing. You know, that she was fine," Richard said, though his voice clearly indicated he felt the whole Rizzoli camp was lying. "I'm guessing Detective Rizzoli ain't seeing any visitors right now."

"Just her family. Now beat it," Tommy said.

Richard shook Tommy's hand, stuffing a business card into the younger Rizzoli's palm as he did so. "Listen, I may know a thing or two about memory loss, alright? If you find that your sister, who is doing fine, doesn't seem to be getting any better? You give me a call."

Tommy unconsciously made a fist, crumbling the business card in the process. For some reason, as he watched Richard walk away, he stuffed the card into his pocket rather than throwing it out.


	6. Chapter 5

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Apologies for the delay. School and work and RL. You know the drill. Thanks to those who followed, favorite-ed, reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Maybe this wasn't a dream. But it seemed that her world was falling back together in pieces. It felt inexplicably familiar and yet not at all.

**5**

**Her body flopped up onto the bank. **She was coughing and sputtering uncontrollably. Her lungs were on fire, her fingers and toes nearly frozen. For a moment, she thought she had gone blind too, but it soon dawned on her that it was dark not because her eyes were playing tricks. It was night time, the moon casting an eerie, strange glow all around her and that glow allowed her eyes to focus.

She could swear the sun was still up when she started chasing . . . what's his name.

What was his name? Why was it so dark? How long had she been fighting the bizarrely strong currents of the Charles River?

Scott. It was Scott.

She struggled to her hands and knees, forcing herself to look around and gather her wits. That son of a bitch could still be around and she wanted to move, but she was so damn tired. A near drowning could really put a damper on things, she determined. She let her head hang for a moment, long enough for her eyes to notice something very different about her hands.

"What the hell?" Jane muttered. Was that a wedding band? There was a tree nearby and she clawed at the trunk to help her stand upright. Once she was, she tried desperately to pull off the offending charm. It wasn't budging. It was like it was meant to stay. It was simple, no designs. It glistened in the moonlight.

Something about these woods looked familiar and she began to walk just to get as far away from that river as possible because somehow she knew the river was to blame for all of this.

God, she was tired, but she had to think! She and Scott tumbled into the Charles. They thrashed and kicked and went under many times. Scott held onto her, her very own set of cement shoes and she kept sinking. She grew lightheaded. She. . .she remembered it went real dark and then almost as quickly, bright white flooded her vision. Like a bolt of lightning.

She felt as if someone was guiding her back, lifting her up.

Yes! That's when she broke the surface, thinking she had found the sun and its warmth, but no. In reality, it was dark and cold. She had a ring on her finger that wasn't hers. She was alone.

"I'm in a coma," Jane reasoned aloud, feeling only slightly crazy. (Talking to herself was merely a small sign.) "I'm not awake. Something. . .is not right. This is a dream."

Then she felt it.

She grasped at herself, around her torso.

She mumbled, "What now . . .?" and found blood on her hands. She applied pressure again, a steady stream of hurt flowing over her fingers as she held onto herself tighter. How had she not noticed this before? Maybe the shock of the near drowning had blocked out the hurt, but her body was warming back up now and so was the pain.

This felt too real.

Maybe this wasn't a dream.

But it seemed that her world was falling back together in pieces. It felt inexplicably familiar and yet not at all.

With a strangled cry, she lowered herself back to the forest floor. Her vision, her feelings, these woods were now a full picture, but of what she wasn't quite sure.

"…_Rizzoli?" _

"Here," Jane replied instinctively, optimistically. Her voice was too loud because a hand clamped over her mouth just then.

"Pipe down! You want them to try that again? Oh God, you're bleeding!"

That voice. Jane blinked her eyes as the person came into view. Vibrant strawberry blond hair poked out from under a fedora. She was wearing a vest and pants, what appeared to be men's shoes. A disguise? Her head becoming hazy, Jane whispered this time, "Maura? Is that you?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You are out of it," the woman said as she paused from her fiddling with Jane's wound. "C'mon, we have to go. Stand up, you're far too tall for me to carry."

"Are you wearing my clothes again, Maur?" Jane asked, noticing that her voice sounded far off and sleepy.

"Please, stand!" the woman insisted.

"But. . .something is wrong." Jane's head was swimming a lot.

"Yes, it might be the fact that you are _bleeding_! Now we gotta make tracks!" Maura (or Not Maura) insisted. Jane wasn't sure what was going on right now, but she always listened to her gut and her gut was telling her that she was not in danger with this woman.

"We have to move, okay? Please," Not Maura pleaded.

"Okay, alright," Jane finally said, feeling a sudden burst of energy. Maybe it was just the simple desire to live that was motivating her. With help from her benevolent Not Maura, Jane stood to her feet.

The two of them scampered off, to where hopefully, Jane would get some answers and a handful of aspirin.

* * *

**They stumbled through the doorway on the second story of what had to be a halfway house.** Not Maura, being as gentle as she could be, led her deeper inside. Jane whimpered again, though she was loathed to do so. She never liked showing she was weak or in pain. Never.

She was dropped in a nearby wooden chair. Her head lolled back as she heard rummaging around in drawers and cabinets.

She should've known that she wouldn't end up at her apartment or anywhere near a precinct or a hospital. That would be too easy, right? Nothing in her life was ever easy. Instead, an uncanny Maura Look-a-Like was tending to her in some run down motel room. It smelled heavily of nicotine and liquor.

"Okay, here, have some of this," Not Maura said. Jane sat her head upright again, the movement making her world swim briefly once more. The fedora was gone, no longer obscuring vibrant blue eyes or holding strawberry blond locks captive. But the eyes were the most striking, holding a mixture of concern and alarm. "Please, now, darling. Drink."

Jane felt the mouth of a flask touch her lips as Not Maura tried to help her drink. She barely got a taste before the smell assaulted her. Jane turned her head away and exclaimed with a hoarse voice, "What is _that?_"

"You never did like the strong stuff. Just a bit of hooch, alright? It will help, I promise."

"Forget the, uh, hooch," Jane replied, stumbling over the awkward word.

"I know it's strong, but not like you to turn down a drink," the woman teased. Jane wasn't quite sure how this woman could know anything about her, but she held her tongue for the moment. Not Maura pulled at the shirt, studied the injury. "The wound doesn't look too deep. You should be fine once I'm done."

Jane groaned. "Tell that to my stomach as it tries to hold in my insides."

The woman laughed softly, then revealed her medical tools.

Jane's eyes widened when she saw the ancient looking syringe that was now being held up in front of her. It was fairly clean looking, so at least she felt reasonably safe about not contracting some disease, but the shape and size of the thing had her terrified. Three large holes for the fingers. The liquid was swirling around inside a fat tube.

"Just. . .wait. Wait a minute," Jane insisted, before that thing got any closer to her. "_What_ is that?"

"Abby, what's eating you?"

As if she already didn't feel crazy enough. Jane narrowed her eyes, repeated, "Abby?"

The woman laughed, almost in the way that Maura would, but with a bit more ease. "Yes, that's you. I'm Joanna. Now stop being _a pill_ and let me help you."

"No, no, no," Jane mumbled, forcing herself to stand up, knocking over the wooden chair in the process. The pain was awful, but she didn't care. Something was definitely wrong!

"I'm not . . . I'm not! This is too real . . . this _can't_ be real."

"Abby?" Joanna called to her questioningly.

"Stop! My name is not Abby!" Jane yelled now, frustration finally setting in. She grasped her side again, blaming the loss of blood for her confusion, but the blood only served to remind her that she was alive. This _was_ happening.

"Abby, you're scaring me."

"And I'm not scared? Now you listen carefully. Abby is some distant relative of mine. I am Jane. My _name _is Jane."

"You're really off your nuts now, Abby," Joanna said, now getting a fearful look about her. "Just quit playing . . ."

"See! That! I can't even understand half the words coming out of your mouth!" Jane exclaimed. "'Off your nuts', what the hell does that even mean? I . . . I'm so confused right now. I just need . . ."

"You _need_ a drink and this," Joanna finished for her, holding up the syringe. "I need to stitch you up so that Bobby doesn't lose it when he sees you. I need you to sit, _please_."

"Bobby?" Jane repeated meekly.

"Yes," Joanna said with a nod. "Please. Sit down. It will be okay."

Joanna slowly bent to right the chair again, then gently offered her hand to Jane. Jane barely hesitated reaching out to grasp the offered hand, which sent a wave of panic through her. She didn't even know this woman, but she couldn't help but trust her. Trust Joanna, who looked so much like Maura but wasn't.

Trust her because she didn't have any other choice.

Back in the chair Jane went, the bottle offered up from before she greedily sipped from and felt the burn all throughout her body. She coughed uncontrollably. _Was this stuff made in a bathtub? _

She probably didn't want an answer to that last question.

There was a heck of a pinch on her arm next and she tensed up as Joanna administered the medicine. Hell, she didn't even know what it was, but the results were almost instant and glorious. It was numbing the pain.

Jane was tired. Her eyes were heavy.

"Over here now," Joanna said, barely above a whisper.

Jane was rested down onto a cot. She felt gentle hands push back her blood soaked shirt and that's when the real pain began. The needle Joanna was using seemed awfully thick and pointy and Jane cried out before making it through the first stitch. Joanna paused her assault momentarily.

"Just keep going," Jane gritted out, now balling up some of the sheets, twisting them and then biting down hard on the cloth. The bleeding needed to stop. She was not going to bleed out before she got some answers.

The "surgery" continued until Jane just couldn't take it anymore and the world turned black.

* * *

**Jane Rizzoli had been awake for some time, just staring at the ceiling of this dump that must've been passing for an apartment.** Her wrists had been tied to the headboard with some thick rope. Her new friend (or captor) taking new precautions after seeing Jane freak out.

Jane just shook her head. She had nearly drowned. Someone had tried to cut her open in the process. Now she had been tied to a headboard…which in a totally different scenario would still be awful because then that would only prove her theory: men only dated her for the handcuffs.

Jane was hurting, though not quite as badly as before and she could probably try to escape this nightmare, but she knew nothing about this place. It was apparent now that she knew absolutely _nothing_ about this place. Where would she go? She didn't even know if she was still in Boston. She didn't know what to think anymore.

"How do you feel?"

Joanna was resting in a doorway. Her face revealed nothing.

Jane sighed. "I'm not sure what to feel."

"I meant the, uh, injury you suffered. But emotions are good too. You're not too good with those either."

For the first time, Jane noticed the twinge of an Irish Boston accent, so she felt assured that at least she was in a city that she knew. Still, the fact that this woman was still speaking as if they knew each other caused Jane to frown.

"You have no idea what I'm good with. And you tied these a lil' tight, mind loosening them?"

"How stupid do you think I am?" Joanna replied smartly, advancing on the cot slowly. "Somehow you've managed to replace my friend, look just like her. Act like her. I don't know what kind of trick this is, but I'll have you know I'm not fooled."

Jane couldn't help the roll of her eyes. "Really? You're not fooled because I told you the truth! If I hadn't of said anything, I wouldn't be tied to this bed."

Joanna pulled the wooden chair with her, sat down next to the cot. She leaned forward, her face very close to the woman she knew to be Abby, but Abby wasn't acting like herself. _She sounds like her_, Joanna mused to herself. "Listen, here. I distrust you because you made a mistake. And even if you hadn't slipped up, there's no saying you still wouldn't be tied to that bed, _dear_."

Jane imagined her expression was quite comical in response to that. In fact, she seriously felt like gulping in abject fear because the implication of that statement was both lustfully charged and very near threatening. It was surprisingly thrilling, because Jane couldn't really help herself, could she? She loved a test of wills and if Joanna was going down this road, she was going to follow.

"Somehow I doubt Abby would enjoy . . . being tied up like this, whatever the circumstances may be. _Dear._"

Joanna was quiet for a moment. She leaned back in the chair, folded her arms almost defiantly. "If I untie you, then what? We both pretend that you're not certifiable? We just sit back, have a few drinks. Light up some cigars? Chase down a killer?"

Joanna's tone was mocking. It was incensing Jane.

"No, we talk," Jane said stiffly. "You're afraid. So am I, but we can't figure this out if I'm tied up like some criminal. I'm not one to beg, but I need help. I need your help to fix this."

"Fix this?"

"We both know something is very wrong here. Quit the skepticism act."

"Act?" Joanna repeated with bluster. "Trust me, babe, this is no act. Put yourself in my shoes. I go out to the woods to save my friend because I had sent her out there hours ago and heard _nothing_. I go out there and I come back . . . I come back with _you_, with a stranger!"

Jane sighed. She had a point there.

"I have no reason to lie about this," Jane said. "I don't like this anymore than you do. I don't even understand it. A part of me still feels like I'm going to wake up from this nightmare, but I haven't yet."

"Maybe this is _my_ dream," Joanna laughed. "Maybe I'm imagining my best friend going completely screwy."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself," Jane shot back, almost angry. "I can only tell you what I know. My name is Jane."

A silence settled between them for a few moments.

"Nuts," Joanna muttered. She revealed a small pocket knife, one that Jane eyed fearfully. With a quick swipe, Joanna cut the first wrist free. Again she mumbled, "Just . . . nuts."

Another swipe and Jane was sitting up, rubbing her wrists and watching the apprehension play across Joanna's face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I guess."

For a brief moment, Jane could see Maura. If she didn't pay much attention to the attire, it was like seeing her friend and she was home. It felt nice to see Maura in any capacity (real or imagined) and for a few brief seconds, Jane could believe that this really was a dream. She was going to wake up at any moment . . .

"Who do you see, looking at me?"

Jane blinked. Maura was gone. She shook her head, "Doesn't matter."

"Listen, if I'm going to entertain this notion that you are this other woman and not my Abby, then you can entertain my questions. I'm playing, so you have to play too."

"Fine," Jane sighed. "You remind me of my friend. Okay? My turn. Why was I at the river?"

"You know this."

"I know my version. I want to hear yours."

Joanna rubbed her eyes before explaining, "Jimmy saw something out there, something big on Cirrillo. It was what he wanted to testify for, what got him killed and it was what _you_ were going to find tonight before that goon went after you. My turn. Why do you think you were supposed to be at the river?"

"I was chasing a suspect in my murder case. He got the upper hand, we fell into the water and from there it gets a bit . . . strange."

Joanna frowned. "Stranger than this?"

"You have a sense of humor. I like it," Jane cracked with a roll of her eyes. "Anything else you want to ask me?"

Joanna paused, clearly thinking over the last exchange. Planning what her next inquiry should be. Quietly, curiously, she asked, "You were chasing a suspect?"

"Yes. That's what detectives have to do sometimes."

"Detective? You? A woman?"

Jane sighed. "Yes, me. A female detective. Jeez, you act like we live in the 50s or something."

Again, Joanna had to pause. This had to be the most surreal conversation she had ever had. Slowly, she asked, "What year do you think it is?"

"Joanna, I'm really done with the 20 questions. . ."

"No, answer it. You think you're not from here. Lord knows your accent is horribly non-Bostonian."

"_Excuse me?"_

"You're either from outta town or the completely unrealistic . . . "

"It's the year 2012."

Joanna's jaw fell so far, Jane thought it would go through the floor. "Pardon me? Two thousand and twelve? You have lost it!"

Had she? Jane sighed helplessly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

These things didn't just happen. Alternate worlds, alternate timelines, alternate realities _did not_ just happen. All of those things were the half-crazed musings of folks like Asimov or, um . . . damn, if Maura were here she could list 50 science fiction authors without breaking a sweat!

She needed Maura.

No. Jane was so beyond needy. She literally felt crushed under the weight of her predicament with no one to turn to. Her friendship with Maura had spoiled her. Knowing that she had at least one person she could always rely on had become routine, familiar.

Here . . . Jane was alone. It was like her childhood all over again. No friends, absentminded brothers, a whimsical mother and oblivious father.

The chair scraped the floor as Joanna stood abruptly, began to pace. Jane couldn't just sit there and she certainly didn't need this woman stomping around, mumbling and cursing because that just wouldn't do for her concentration!

"She's crazy," Joanna was mumbling. "Really, really crazy."

If Jane was going to fix this, she needed quiet, damn it! So naturally she went to stop Joanna, completely forgetting what had her down in the first place.

At the sound of Jane's cry of pain, Joanna immediately stopped her pacing and held Jane up. She quickly led Jane back to the cot, sat her down and cupped Jane's face tenderly. "Are you dumb now too? For Pete's sake, Abby! I. . ."

Joanna froze. That name had slipped out too easily and for some reason, it felt so wrong to say it. It felt so terribly wrong to say it.

Jane was admittedly frozen too. The touch was tender, sweet. She held the eyes of Joanna mostly out of intrigue and saw the depth of Joanna's affection for her….no, for someone else. Jane wasn't so naïve not to know what that look meant.

Slowly, Jane clasped the hands holding her face, lowered them. Quietly, she said, "I'm sorry. I don't like . . . being weak. "

Jane wanted to say more. Wanted to ask more! Now she felt like an invader, privy to a side of Abigail Rizzoli that none of the microfilm in all the world could have told her.

Joanna looked down for a moment, replied quietly, "Neither does she."

Relief flooded through Jane. "You believe me? You understand I'm not Abby?"

"I didn't say that! I think you hit your head or that the loss of blood has . . . has . . ."

"What? Made me think I'm some crazy woman from the future? Joanna. I. Am. Not. Abby."

Joanna huffed. "Well, right now, you are what I got! This is the worst possible time for you to be acting like some certifiable amnesiac!"

Before Jane could offer another retort to that, there was a heavy knock on the door. "Oh, you have to hide!" Before Jane could say anything or protest, she was hurried into the back room. Joanna hissed, "Stay quiet! Stay hidden!"

The door was shutting and Jane could hear Joanna cursing, "This is the last thing I need right now!"

* * *

**The pounding on the door grew more insistent.**

Joanna swung the door open to reveal a haggard young man in a long brown coat. Good ol' Bobby Rizzoli.

"Where is she?" he barked.

Joanna pursed her lips playfully. "Oh, so tough and mean now that your wife is missing."

"Missing?" Bobby repeated bleakly. "What have you done?"

Joanna frowned. "Why is it always my fault?"

For a moment, Joanna was just going to come clean and tell Bobby that something was seriously wrong with Abby. Something was really, really wrong. But only for a moment because here he was, this timid excuse of a man trying to act like he had some semblance of control when he knew he had none. No one could control Abby.

What in the world would Joanna gain by telling Bobby that his wife was now nuts and believed she was from the future?

With the way Bobby was eyeing her with utter contempt, she knew it would gain her nothing. He would call her crazy, which honestly, she was certainly feeling. He would insist on taking Abby home. Under normal circumstances, Abby would have an argument with Bobby, he would run off with his tail between his legs and then the two women would go back to their adventures, but with this New Abby?

No, she wasn't sure that would be likely to happen. Joanna hadn't exactly been approving of this new personality and instead of arguing with Bobby, Abby could just leave with him! Joanna couldn't have that.

No. Joanna had to lather up Bobby here real good, get in a nasty fight and remove him from this situation as soon as possible. She still needed Abby, whether or not her best friend was aware of who she was or what their plans had been.

The less he spoke to this "Jane", the better it would be for everyone.


	7. Chapter 6

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks to those who followed, favorite-ed, reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: This was too much. Maura needed space. She needed a moment to figure out how to bring Jane back.

**6**

**Maura Isles wasn't sure how it happened. **She was usually so organized. She could swear she had filed all the information on Abigail Rizzoli in her home office, second drawer on the left. Maybe the tornado that was Angela Rizzoli had swept through and re-organized everything in the last week. With a huge sigh, she slammed that drawer shut and wondered where the microfilm copies could have disappeared to. Then an idea struck her.

Into the guest bedroom she went and her suspicions had been correct. Jane Rizzoli had thrown the articles all over the bed, clearly had been studying them and categorizing the information dutifully since retrieving them. Maura should have known that her friend would continue to poor over the history of the Rizzoli family history so steadfastly.

It could also explain why Jane had woken up as Abby, the lost relative being the last subject on her mind. With the physical trauma, lack of oxygen to the brain and subsequent mini coma, it all made sense to Maura.

Now all she had to do was remind Jane of who she was. Simple, right?

She gathered up everything, trying to be careful to keep the order Jane had started and returned to her office. Sitting at her desk, she began to reread the texts hoping to gather more insight into the woman that had somehow come to life more than 80 years later.

* * *

**Richard Brandt smiled to himself, leisurely began to walk the corridors of the hospital.** He reached inside his jacket to retrieve a paper from inside his pocket. He unfolded it and studied the photograph and the subsequent article as if he hadn't read this little piece several times. The article had a crude copy, the image of a lawyer named Abigail Rizzoli. It was just a small piece, an obituary of sorts written by Oscar Dye in 1931. It wasn't written explicitly, but Oscar seemed to have no doubt the mob had murdered that poor lawyer. Her official cause of death was drowning.

At the time, when he had found the old clipping amongst many other old newspapers in the attic, he didn't think anything of it. Not until the following day, images flew across the television of Detective Jane Rizzoli and her heroic deed to save her brother and to kill a crooked cop. It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? How similar they looked?

It took a little time and research, but Richard eventually confirmed that they were of the same family. Rizzoli. A strong name, he felt. It looked good in print. Not that he cared about that either. He wasn't really a reporter, though he did like to fancy himself a decent writer and storyteller.

He felt a slight vibration in his pocket. His cell phone.

"This is Richard," he answered. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle as the voice on the other end spoke. After a moment of listening, he replied, "I have barely left the hospital. I have not seen her since yesterday."

He was given one last command before the phone went silent. He grumbled, "You could at least say, 'Goodbye, Richard'. 'Have a nice day, Richard'. 'Do what I say or I'll kill you, Richard'."

Richard shoved his phone back in his pocket, the slightly stressful phone call becoming a distant memory very quickly. It's not that he wasn't afraid of the person on the other end. It was just they needn't worry about his dedication to the Rizzoli case. He was on it like white on rice, because he simply couldn't leave it alone. Not when he had other more insistent motivations also residing in this hospital.

He checked his watch. Visiting hours were not open yet. Maybe he could meander back over to Rizzoli's side of the building for just a moment.

After finding the obituary of Abigail and then seeing Jane on the tv, he found himself chasing ambulances. And sometimes these chased ambulances led to murder cases. And these murder cases were worked by whom? Detective Rizzoli, of course. He would see Dr. Maura Isles on many of these runs too. It was clear they enjoyed working together or else they wouldn't almost always be together. If he timed it right and with clues on his police scanner, he would even catch glimpses of the duo, Rizzoli and Isles, working a fresh crime scene from the very beginning.

They were absolutely fascinating when working in tandem and he meant this, not in a stalker sort of way. They gave Richard plenty to write about and kept him working. Work paid the bills, especially the medical ones.

It was the call about the Charles River that really set things into motion. A detective was in critical condition, that she had nearly drowned in her attempt to arrest a suspect. Yes, his favorite detective was the one they were speaking of and so close to the anniversary of Abigail's death. It just couldn't be a coincidence!

Richard whipped out his phone this time in a more cheery manner. "Hey, Brad."

"What now, Richard?"

"Remember that Charles River stuff I told you about? I might have a lead on something. It might be the real deal this time."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Rich. I know we have a proud tradition at _The Global Update_ of publishing weird news, but at least most of our stories have some kind of truth behind them. Can't you just find me a weird death or something? What about that guy that was killing folks and dressing 'em up as dolls?"

"That's old news, Brad. I know I've been a bit vague on the details, but if this turns out to be what I think it is, it will be one hell of a story," Richard insisted. "I'll keep you posted."

Brad sighed. "You don't work for me, Richard. You never will."

It was true. Richard Brandt did mostly freelance work. If he was lucky, Brad would pay him for crime spots here and there. That's why Rizzoli and Isles had been so important. They always caught the weirdos. Weirdos kept Richard in business.

"After this story, I'll be gunning for your editing job," Richard joked before he spotted Maura Isles walking his way, an expression of complete malcontent on her features. He said goodbye abruptly.

"Do I need to call security?" Maura asked politely. She had several folders in her hands and Richard did wonder briefly what those folders contained.

"No, just waiting," Richard said, with a smile.

"Waiting?" Maura repeated. "Okay, well, if you could wait somewhere else, the Medical Examiner's Office as well as the Boston PD would greatly appreciate it."

Richard nodded. "So you, the Chief Medical Examiner, are asking me to leave?"

Maura sighed, ducked her head for a moment then said strongly, "As her friend, I'm asking. Go.  
Please."

Richard smiled again. "Fine, but like I told the younger brother, I _can_ help you with this."

"I seriously doubt that, but thank you all the same," Maura replied tiredly, before turning and walking back toward the detective's room.

"I won't be going away," Richard said, watched her ignore him and turn the corner. He promised aloud to no one in particular, "You'll be calling." He checked his watch, saw that visiting hours were open in another wing of the building and made his way to another very special patient.

He poked his head into a room. He was immediately greeted with a warm smile, wispy gray hairs had fallen over a tired face.

"Richard," the old woman smiled. "My favorite reporter."

"I'm not really a reporter," he said in way of greeting, immediately crossing the room and linking his hand with hers. "So, I've got some news. I didn't want to excite you until I knew for sure, but I have a good feeling that another patient in this hospital could lead to a very big story."

* * *

**Abigail Rizzoli was still cuffed to the bed, just the one hand for now.** If she wanted to get out of here, she needed a cooler head. Foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog wasn't going to help matters in the least. Unfortunately, keeping her cool hadn't always been one of her strong suits and without Joanna here to counteract her natural brand of crazy, Abby feared she may never leave this hospital.

Oh and what a hospital it was!

She had never been to a facility like this. Everyone was dressed so strangely and their medical tools looked so pristine and the beds weren't bad either. She could hear the "monitors" (a nurse had provided the name with a curious expression) and those monitors tracked her heartbeat plus other vitals Abby hadn't been aware were even important.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

Her doctor's office, Dr. Warden, was on the first floor of his home. The front room was where his nurse sat at a desk and had chairs for his waiting patients. His examination room was in the back. It had a metal table and various other lights and instruments. It was nothing like this. She felt as though she had been plucked from her already crazy life and then dropped into a fantastical new world.

A world that didn't seem to have fared much better than the other life she had left behind. She had left one crime only to be dropped into another. Her new role as detective (at least that was an improvement!) and this new life giving her more family than she could have ever hoped for.

But they were not her family. They were Jane's family.

They looked at Abby as if she had grown two heads. All of them had.

The detectives, Korsak and Frost.

Angela, the mother.

The elegant woman, Maura.

They continually insisted she was this other woman, Jane. Abby tried very hard to convince them otherwise. With as little cursing as possible, of course.

Still, nothing assuaged them and here she remained, chained to this room. Chained to this existence.

"Um, may I come in?"

Abby turned to the door. It was Maura. She was clutching some papers to her chest, her expression one of sympathy and inquisitiveness. Abby liked this woman and it wasn't necessarily because she had an uncanny resemblance to Joanna. Unlike the Rizzoli family, Maura had refrained from flipping out. She didn't yell, she didn't push too hard. She seemed to be just as confused as Abby and that was comforting.

"I suppose you may," Abby sighed. _Not that I have a choice!_

Maura seemed to glide as she walked. She set herself down on the chair daintily and smiled softly at Abby. It was such a kind smile. Shyly, Maura began, "There have been a lot of studies on memory loss."

"I didn't lose my memory," Abby retorted instantly. She regretted it of course, but she simply couldn't stand to be called crazy any longer.

"I realize you feel this way," Maura nodded fervently. "I want to help. I want to understand. It's just, as much as you look like Jane, sound like Jane . . . I feel . . ."

"You know," Abby said with relief.

Maura chuckled. "I don't _know_ anything. I just feel Jane is in there, somehow. I want to help find her." She opened her folder. "I have some newspaper clippings here. They may be upsetting for you. They discuss Abigail Rizzoli and her role with the mob family, Cirrillo."

"They discuss me?"

"I suppose you can put it that way."

"What do they say?"

Maura took in a deep breath. She pulled a sheet, flipping it around to show her the headline.

**VICTIM OF CHARLES RIVER ATTACK IDENTIFIED AS ABIGAIL RIZZOLI **

And then another one.

**ABIGAIL RIZZOLI, BOSTON'S FIRST FEMALE LAWYER DIES**

Alarmed, Abby roared, "What the hell, lady? I am not dead!"

* * *

**Maura tried to remain steadfast, but the emotion being displayed by Not Jane seemed so raw. ** She had hoped showing Jane this article would help her to remember. Jane believed she was Abby because of how much time Jane had invested into learning more about her deceased relative.

"I'm not dead, lady. That's one thing I am sure of."

"No, you are not," Maura sighed. She was beginning to dislike the use of the words 'lady' and 'sweetheart' being used in her direction. She insisted gently, "Please, look at the date."

**October 10, 1931**

"So what? It's the day I went to the river."

"What makes you respond this way? What do you remember?" Maura asked gently. She had read this article forwards and backwards, she was sure Jane had as well. Whatever transpired on the day Abby Rizzoli died had been written in these papers, so even if Jane had all the answers, she would have retained this knowledge having read about Abby Rizzoli's death. It only made sense.

What didn't make sense was the hostility. Jane's delusion was more ingrained than Maura had suspected.

"What do I remember? I remember I was looking for Jimmy's stash," Not Jane nearly growled. "I remember falling into the river, probably fighting with Jimmy's killer. I remember that apples are red and violets are blue, but I sure as hell don't remember dying!"

"Do you know what year it is?" Maura queried. Why did Jane's vehemence sound so genuine?

"1931," Not Jane answered with no doubt as to the time in which she was living.

Maura shook her head. "No, Jane. It's the year 2012. September 15th, to be precise. In less than a months' time, Abby Rizzoli would have been dead for 81 years."

"You lie," Not Jane gritted out between her teeth.

"Jane, you know I can't lie. I have the proof."

"No, you have . . . fabrications! Those papers could be forged for all I know! My name is Abby Rizzoli. I am a God danged lawyer for the city of Boston and my husband's name is Robert Rizzoli. He's a detective for the Boston Police Department. Why hasn't anyone tried to contact him? Where is he? I demand to see him!"

Not Jane was tugging at her restraint now, the tears flowing unabated now. Maura was torn by the display. She whispered sadly, "Oh, Jane."

"My name is not Jane! My name is _not_ Jane!"

Somehow, Not Jane launched herself at Maura, half of her body now hanging over the edge of the bed. She had tried to grab onto Maura, but predictably came up short. Not just because of the safety bars, but because she was still handcuffed.

Maura was startled, had stifled a shocked yelp as she rushed forward and struggled to push the distraught woman back up onto the bed. She began to beg, plead, "Jane, you have to stop this!"

Somehow, Maura shoved Jane up onto her back. The exertion had Maura unintentionally fall on top of Jane.

No, wait. Maura was now face to face with the frazzled woman. She was staring into Jane's watery eyes, seeing in the murky pools a person she didn't recognize. Her proof suddenly seemed so insignificant compared to the loss she saw there.

While her best friend was known for being fervent, Jane Rizzoli was not in them. Jane Rizzoli couldn't be there because these eyes were merely looking at Maura.

They didn't _see_ Maura. They didn't know Maura.

How could this be?

Maura forced herself up and off of. . . Jane?

No. Not Jane.

Tears sprang to Maura's eyes now, the unfathomable becoming reality.

"Abby?" Maura slowly stepped away from the bed, the back of her knees hitting the chair. She fell into it. "You're not Jane."

"Attagirl!" Abby said mockingly. "Now she gets it!"

This was too much. Maura needed space. She needed a moment to figure out how to bring Jane back. Sitting here, watching her best friend believe so deeply that she was a long dead woman was too distracting. So distracting, that now Maura was beginning to believe it herself!

Maura suddenly rose from her chair, the scraping sound alerting the other woman back into action.

"No! Don't leave! Maura, _please!_"

The plea got her. That familiarly hoarse, deeply resonating pitch froze her in place. _ Maura, please. _It was piercing pain Maura felt in her heart, hearing her friend beg. But it wasn't her friend, was it?

_Don't be silly, Maura. _

Maura's hand hovered above the door handle, every part of her saying that she needed to go. She needed to think. She came in here with all the answers, but somehow that got all turned around. Her answers were wrong, somehow.

"Maura, please. Don't go. I can't explain it, you know? I just know that I don't belong here. I think you know that too."

Maura let her head hang, as she turned the handle on the door. She opened the door slightly, felt the cool air from the hallway whip in and chill her skin. _Just a little air._ She looked over her shoulder at someone who looked like Jane Rizzoli. Sounded like Jane Rizzoli. Had the same fire and spark that Jane Rizzoli had. Maura shut the door, ignoring all her flight responses.

"I'm scared," Maura said aloud.

"Me too."

"You are Jane," Maura said, but with less certainty.

"I'm not her. Please. If what you say is true, then everyone I know has been dead for quite some time. I'm alone and you can't leave me here."

"But Jane, you're not alone," Maura tried again, but her effort in vain.

Not Jane shook her head. "No Maura. I'm not her. And I am very much alone."

This wasn't right. Maura knew this, she just knew this, but she didn't have the insight into people that Jane had. She wasn't sure if what she was hearing or seeing was true!

She needed Jane.

"Jane usually knows what to do next," Maura huffed, shaking her head in frustration. "I just wish you could . . . I wish that she was here."

"I _want_ to help you. I do. I can't do that being tied up in here. You're the only one I trust, Maura. I don't know why, but I do. Help me get out of here. Help me get back to that river and figure out what happened."

Maura walked back over to the bed slowly. She gathered up Not Jane's free hand and squeezed tightly. "I want to help you too, but there's only one way I can do that. You have to _be_ Jane. They won't release you unless you agree to be Jane."

"But I'm not her," Not Jane insisted. Then she caught Maura's eyes and understood. _Be Jane._ "I have to be Jane."

Maura nodded, managing a bit of a smile. "You are different, I can see that, but everyone else won't. You will be stuck here in this bed until you can prove you are well again, both physically and mentally."

"Why do you believe me now?"

Maura shook her head. "I'm not sure I do. Learning everything about Abby Rizzoli was very important to Jane before this accident. Maybe this has happened because subconsciously, Jane wants to finish something Abby started. Until it's resolved, I may never see Jane again."

Maura's voice cracked at that realization.

"So, I'm still crazy," Abby deadpanned.

"Yes," Maura answered. "I mean, no! Listen. Right now, I can only trust what I see and hear. I can only go by what I know as fact. For me to even consider this notion that somehow you have traveled here from the 1930s and possessed my friend's body is absurd, but it's what _you_ believe. I would never abandon Jane because of her beliefs. I never have."

**Abby Rizzoli frowned.** She still had her hand clasped between Maura's. She was just too warm to let go. It was the only thing thus far that had provided her any comfort that she was going to get through this okay.

Even if Maura Isles still thought of her as Jane having a mental break, it was better than nothing. Maybe getting her to believe in her completely would take time. Surely, if Joanna had woken up one day only to claim she was Joan of Arc, Abby would probably react in the same way.

"Okay, I can do that," Abby agreed. Surprisingly, she felt relief when she saw Maura visibly relax. "You, however, have to agree to call me Abby when it's just the two of us. I don't want to lose myself in all this pretending."

Before Maura could say anything, Abby cut her off. "I know you won't hear it, but for me, this is pretending. I am not who you want me to be, but maybe in time, I'll be able to show you."

Maura sighed, before giving Abby's hand another squeeze of reassurance. "Fine. I will address you as Abby when we are alone."

Abby smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Maura." Pausing a beat, she added, "I get it, you know?"

"Get what?"

"If you believe that I'm some woman from the past in your friend's body, then you would have to accept that she is gone. That Jane is not here."

Maura didn't respond, not that Abby expected her to. Hell, if she believed she had somehow taken over this body, she too would have to accept that maybe she _was_ dead. Maybe her spirit was trying to rectify something from her past.

"I don't believe that. I don't believe she's gone."

"If it's any consolation, I lost someone too," Abby said quietly, and then slowly extricated her hand from Maura's grasp. With a forced laugh, she pleaded, "Now, could you untie me? I promise I won't attack anybody, okay?"

Maura hesitated for only a moment before revealing the key from the breast pocket of her jacket. She unlocked the handcuffs and Abby gratefully rubbed her sore wrist. She nodded her thanks to Maura, who still seemed doubtful but willing to help.

She watched the doctor gather up her newspapers and folders. She walked toward the door once more to leave. Then Maura paused, before looking over her shoulder and asking, "You said you lost someone. Who?"

It was plain to Maura that Abby wasn't referring to her husband.

Abby smiled sadly. "Her name is Joanna."

* * *

**Maura stepped out into the hallway, reached for her cell phone. ** As Frankie approached her, she politely let the distraught brother know she was making an important phone call.

"Korsak? It's Maura. I need you to do some research for me. See if you can find anyone by the name of Robert Rizzoli in your database. If you do, cross reference that name with Joanna. I don't have a last name. It's a hunch that I have."

"A hunch?" Frankie repeated as Maura hung up the phone.

"I'll let you know, Frankie," Maura promised. "For now, I'm going to work on getting Jane out of here. I hope by integrating her back into her life, she'll start to remember who she is."

"Still thinks she's Abby, huh?" Frankie said, his worry evident.

"I'm afraid so," Maura said. "Listen, let's just keep this between us, okay? _Abby_, in there, has agreed to pretend to be Jane. It'll make it easier to take her home."

"Pretend? Aside from the crazy identity crisis, she still acts like Jane," Frankie said, his tone almost light and joking. He even rubbed his shoulder for emphasis. "She still _hits _like Jane."

Maura smiled. "Okay, so that's encouraging, right? Jane is in there somehow. She's just mixed up on the names right now. So, keep this quiet?"

"Sure," Frankie agreed. "I took Ma home. Tommy ran off to God knows where. Oh, and I picked up Jo Friday from Janie's apartment too, just to give her some relief."

"Good," Maura nodded.

"I have to work, but I'll check in with you later, okay?"

"Okay," Maura said. "Everything will be okay, Frankie."

_Or not._ The thought was troubling, but Maura hoped that her hunch wouldn't prove the impossible. She hoped that her fears would be allayed by sound reasoning and she most certainly hoped that her best friend would come back to them soon.

Abby wasn't the only one who was going to have to pretend that everything was normal.


	8. Chapter 7

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks to those who followed, favorite-ed, reviewed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: "You of all people should know that in this world, the men run it. Those same men are trying to make this city a cesspool for drugs and guns, they are praying on the people that live here."

**7**

**Joanna Hastens had always been the type of gal to give as good as she got. **It was the way life had always been, growing up in a mobster town and answering to a mobster family. She and Jimmy had decided a long time ago that while the life was lucrative, there were more important aspects worth cherishing. Family and love and choice. Jimmy died wanting all of those things.

_He stole a cookie from her plate, grinning from ear to ear as he took a bite. It was one of his more annoying habits, his taking without asking. But what did she expect him to learn growing up in their household? She glared playfully at him, but knew she couldn't chastise his behavior. Jimmy was her brother and she loved him. _

"_Joanna, don't look so cross," he laughed. _

Joanna really missed his laugh, the sound she remembered more magical than any songbird she had heard on her few trips to the countryside.

"Jo, I swear if you don't start talking," Bobby Rizzoli advised, bringing her out of her memories and back to her current reality. This was the most fearsome she had ever seen Bobby behave and that wasn't saying much. He was a bit soft for her tastes, but that was perhaps the part that appealed to Abigail. Bobby was ridiculously pliable.

"What do you want me to say?" Joanna needled him. "I went looking for her too."

_And I brought back a stranger!_

Bobby was angry, she could see that. She just didn't know how to tell him that his wife was completely screwy!

_I can only tell you what I know. My name is Jane._

Joanna could hear her friend's voice in her head, could see her friend's lips move as they spoke but she just couldn't believe the words. Her name was Jane? It just wasn't comprehensible, this notion that Abby was not Abby. How could she not be Abby?

"Does the name 'Jane' mean anything to you?" Joanna asked, surprising herself, not anticipating she would voice her thoughts out loud. Bobby was equally confused by the question.

He shook his head, said, "Jane? Doesn't ring a bell. Does this person have a beef with Abby?"

"I sure hope not," Joanna mumbled, before suggesting. "Maybe you can do some digging?"

Bobby wasn't budging. "Stop acting like everything's Jake! I'm not leaving until you tell me just what the hell happened to Abby!"

"If I knew, don't you think I would tell you?" Joanna snarled back.

It was true, wasn't it? Joanna wasn't sure how to explain this! She didn't even believe it herself. So Bobby was right. She couldn't pretend that everything was fine when it most certainly was not. Abby was confused, she was acting strangely and it was going to screw with their hopes of bringing Jimmy's killer to justice.

Of course, Joanna couldn't deny that Abby's claims sounded very sincere. Abby was not a liar. She hated liars even more. Why would she start with these unusual behaviors now? Why now, when they were working to fix something that was so important to all of them?

* * *

"**It's okay, Jane. You got this," Jane whispered to herself.** She wasn't sure what new guest had shown up or why Joanna wanted her to hide, but Jane certainly didn't want to stick around to find out. She inched over to the window, peered out to the street below. Dawn was illuminating the streets below and it all looked so different. It was less cluttered.

That's why it didn't take long to spot the car or the goon sitting inside it. He spit tobacco out the window with blatant disregard to anyone who could be watching. The brim on his hat cast a shadow over his features making it hard to see his face, but who needed his face when all she had to do was scrape up a piece of that tobacco muck off the pavement and run for DNA?

She shook her head, "God, what a newbie. This must be the 30s."

_Now listen to me!_

So hopping out the window wasn't an option (and with her injury that would have been a task anyway). She inched her way back to the bedroom door and not because she was good at being stealthy. Her wound still ached and the less she moved, the less it hurt. She pressed her ear to the wall, attempted to listen to the voices just on the other side.

She could hear Joanna clearly. Her tone of voice was almost mocking. "What makes you think she is dead? Like she can't handle herself. . . "

"Don't play coy with me, babe. For some reason, Abby likes you despite your upbringing. If you know where she is, tell me. She's my wife!"

Wife? Jane glanced at her hand again. The ring. Bobby Rizzoli. Also, what was this about Joanna's upbringing? Jane had to roll her eyes. As if she needed to add any more questions to this predicament.

"It's a wonder she still even loves you," Joanna spit back. "What a husband!"

Jane frowned. This sounded like an adversary's quarrel and something that neither of them had time for. Leave it to a Rizzoli to keep an argument up with . . . with, um. Well, just who was Joanna anyway? It probably wasn't a coincidence she reminded Jane so much of Maura, another detail she would have to get cleared up at some point.

Unceremoniously, Jane threw open the door. "Okay, I'm going to assume that neither of you knows that Bobby was tailed here and that same goon is sitting on this apartment."

Both Joanna and Bobby had expressions of complete surprise on their features. Joanna's quickly morphed into contempt, probably wondering why the hell Jane had decided to reveal herself when she was so clearly directed to stay hidden in the bedroom.

"Abby!" the man exclaimed, rushing up to her and hugging the life out of her. "Thank God!"

"Whoa," Jane groaned, pushing him back immediately. She very nearly proclaimed that she was not a hugger, but then she saw his look of disappointment and hurt. She said meekly, "I was injured."

"Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, Abby," Bobby said quickly. "Let me look . . ."

"No!" came the simultaneous answer from both women. Okay. Jane knew why she didn't want Bobby touching her, but she wasn't quite sure why Joanna was just as vehement.

"I already looked," Joanna added, with less vigor. "She's fine. Nothing that will keep her down for long. Right, Abby?"

Joanna gave her a hard look, a look that said you better agree with me, damn it. Jane reaffirmed quickly, "She already looked."

The level of discomfort that Jane was feeling was palpable and not just because she had been suddenly dumped into a marriage that wasn't hers but because her 'husband', Bobby, looked a hellava lot like Tommy. And that was just creepy.

Bobby stepped back to look at Jane from head to toe. "Are you alright, Abby? Sweetheart? Talk to me."

"I'm fine," Jane mumbled. At his concerned look, she emphasized in a clearer, more confident voice. "Really, I am fine."

Bobby Rizzoli had a fresh face with hints of worry lines above the brow. _So young,_ Jane mused to herself. He ran a hand through his short, brown hair. His nerves were tangible, his concern so overwhelming. For a moment, she began to wonder if she was the one who should be trying to comfort him.

Joanna cut in-between the two of them, literally and Jane was definitely relieved. "Did you not hear her, Bobby? She spotted a tail outside!" Then Joanna looked at Jane, "Thanks for spoiling my fun. I had him going for minute."

Bobby glared at Joanna as he said, "I knew you weren't dead, dear. This one has an affinity for playing games during moments of calamity!"

"Right. Well, um, _dear_," Jane said, clearing her throat as she said repeated the endearment awkwardly. "The tail? Outside?"

Bobby finally let that news sink in. "Well, no one followed me from the station. I swear it."

"They can't know I'm here. Or that Abby's here either."

"You think I don't know that? When I didn't hear from you, I went to the Charles. I found my fedora, the one Abby had been wearing before you two went gallivanting off. Of course I thought the worst and came looking."

Joanna sighed. "You should've kept your head. As you can see, we escaped (mostly) unscathed."

"Fine, you're right. But I want to know how someone knew to look for Abby by the river."

Jane didn't have to be a genius to suspect that Bobby was accusing Joanna of snitching.

Joanna shook her head. "I don't know that, okay? The important thing is that Abby will be fine, right? She's been through worse."

Bobby sighed. "I always knew you were trouble, Abigail."

Jane wasn't really sure how to respond or even if she should. She wasn't certain she could get used to this. She couldn't have everyone here believe that she was Abby! She glanced at Joanna for help, any kind of help! This needed to end soon. It was too exhausting, too unreal.

Joanna seemed to understand and walked up to Bobby. "We can get back out there, but first we need to plug a leak. Someone knew we were going out there or they followed us. The longer this goes on, the harder it will be to finally get this son of a bitch. You follow me?"

Bobby agreed. "I know, I know. Listen, I'll scram. Once that tail is gone I'll get in touch with the papers or the hospital or something. I'll have something wrote up. Then I want you gals to hide someplace new, you got me?"

"Yeah, yeah, now get out of here. I'll take care of her. I always do," Joanna promised. She rushed Bobby out, not giving him a chance to say goodbye to Jane. Again, Jane felt relief. She didn't want to be forced into any more intimate situations with the man.

When the door shut, Joanna whipped around with her hands on her hips, "What was that? Thought you didn't know who you were or what was going on?"

Jane shook her head. "I don't, but I'm not stupid and I know when someone is casing a place. Obviously, whatever is happening, I'm no longer on the right side of the law."

"That's because the law is crooked, Abby."

"It's Jane."

"Fine, _Jane_. _The law_ got my brother killed. _The law_ is going to allow Cirrillo to go free. _The law_ tried to get you drowned in that river. The law is no longer an option."

"Doing the right thing is always an option," Jane countered.

Joanna sighed. "You of all people should know that in this world, the men run it. Those same men are trying to make this city a cesspool for drugs and guns, they are praying on the people that live here. Bobby is one of the last good ones, but his hands are tied now. It was you and I that decided to no longer stand for this injustice. Well, mostly me. I had to convince you."

Jane asked quietly, "Why is that?"

"You not remembering is getting really frustrating, sweetheart," Joanna complained, rubbing her eyes. "You weren't too happy with me when we first met, but I dunno, somehow we understood each other. We knew it was up to us, don't you see?

We're women. We walk with our arms linked to our husbands' or we prattle on about taking care of our families. They don't become lawyers or try to fight wrongs. Despite how much trouble we have caused, we are still considered weak and unsuspecting and therefore conquerable. But after what happened at the river, I'm beginning to think that we have struck a little fear into those boys."

"They tried to kill me because I dug too deep," Jane said, almost chastising herself for using the qualifier "I". _She _didn't do anything. Abby did.

"That's right. Now I'm going to suggest something and you're not going to like it. I mean, I guess Abby wouldn't have liked it. God, this is confusing!"

Jane rose an eyebrow. "Okay?"

"Bobby thought Abby was dead, at least until you spoiled it. I think she needs to stay that way and the way Bobby was talking, he thinks so too."

"You mean fake my death?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah. I like it. Makes it easier for me to get around. No one will be looking for me."

Joanna had to chuckle. "The more you talk, the more I start to believe this screwy mess. Abby wouldn't have liked losing her lawyer status. She felt it was like some invincible shield. Gave her access to things that most women didn't have. Can't say that it hasn't helped, but she was naïve to think it would protect her forever."

"Yeah, but Abby didn't think like a detective," Jane replied with a smirk. "Being undercover provides a different kind of cloak. The work may take a little longer, but the reward usually makes up for it." With a grunt, Jane lowered herself back onto the cot she had occupied earlier. "Can I ask you something?"

Joanna shrugged. "If you must."

"How did you meet? I mean, you and Abby," Jane asked curiously. "You said you had to convince her to join you."

Joanna had to chuckle at first. "This is unbelievable." She shut her eyes for a moment, as if to collect herself and then answered, "We met at _The Robber._ I had a feeling she would show up there after Jimmy's death and I guess I was desperate and sad, waiting on her to waltz in. This was a little over a month ago when she strode in, all attitude and brooding. She was drinking a scotch, I think, and I invited myself to sit down with her. She wasn't happy to learn who I was, however."

"You've only known her a month?" Jane asked.

Joanna nodded, her expression taking on a more fond look. "Yes, but I think if you were to ask either of us, it felt as if we had been friends for years."

Joanna slowly, cautiously made her way over and sat down. Jane watched as the strawberry blond reached up and pushed an unruly curl of hair back into place. The care in the gesture did not go unnoticed by Jane, a low stir beginning to tremble in the pit of her stomach. Joanna sighed, "I wish you would remember this."

_Let's just enjoy this calm, just this once_

"I feel as if I know you," Jane confessed aloud. She hadn't really meant to voice that, but the words tumbled out anyway.

"You do know me, Abby," Joanna said quietly, cupping the other woman's face in her hand.

Jane shut her eyes, breathed in deeply. The woman was pretty, Jane could concede. Hair was tumbling down her shoulders with natural ease. The men's shirt did very little to hide her curves and while Jane fronted being a prude, she was not ashamed to admit that Joanna was very attractive. Her response to the touch, however, was unexpected.

Embarrassed and confused by it all, Jane backed away slightly. She prayed she wasn't blushing.

"I'm sorry," Joanna said quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Jane said quickly. "This is all weird. I get it."

"Abby didn't like it either," Joanna acknowledged. "Not very tactile. So fiercely independent."

Jane could see Joanna's eyes watering up, noticed that Joanna was referring to Abby as a separate entity.

It was happening; the realization that Abby Rizzoli was not here.

To understand this meant to acknowledge that Abby was gone. And if she came back, would Jane then disappear? Would she wake up and realize this was a dream? She suddenly had a whole host of questions, but only two stood out and needed to be voiced.

Jane took an unsteady breath before venturing ahead. "Did she. . .? Did you. . .?"

Jane couldn't even finish her thoughts, but the look of horror on Joanna's face was almost comical and indicated she knew exactly what was being asked.

"I never said anything! I couldn't. Abby was so traditional. So honor bound. I could never upset that for her. Her relationship with Bobby was the only thing left that wasn't tainted."

Jane frowned. "You say that in the past tense."

"Abby's job, her trust in the law, even her relationship with Bobby was beginning to fall apart. Don't be fooled by all that he just showed you. He loves Abby, don't get me wrong, but I don't know. They're drifting apart now. Ever since Jimmy was killed."

"But she had to know?" Jane pushed. She wasn't sure why she was pushing this at all. Maybe she just wanted to be certain she wouldn't be put into any weird situations with the woman. Or maybe anything _more weird_ than what she was already experiencing.

Joanna sighed. "It's possible. She's my best friend, practically my third arm. We would kill for each other. Die for each other."

Such a strong bond formed in such a short amount of time. Jane knew a thing or two about the strength of such bonds, the love that could result from it. She smiled softly, "I kinda know what you mean."

Jane couldn't stop the flow of images if she tried. Hoyt. That madman glowering down at her with an insatiable hunger. Maura's whimper of fear that spurred Jane into action, that gave her the shot she needed to break free of her own demons and take down Hoyt once and for all.

"There you go again," Joanna whispered.

Jane focused her eyes, realized she had started to see Maura in Joanna again. Staring at her with such a desperate longing as if staring hard enough would make things right again. Now she was sure she was blushing, turning away and mumbling, "I'm sorry. It's just, you say I look like Abby. You sorta look like my friend."

"Friend?" Joanna chuckled. "Even I try to keep from looking at Abby the way you just looked at me."

Jane could feel the heat in her cheeks now. "Just forget it. We have to figure out who tried to kill me . . . kill Abby. Whatever! Can we just do that, please?"

Joanna nodded, though her expression showed she was reluctant to do so. "Bobby will find Oscar. He works at the paper."

"Oscar?" Jane repeated. She remembered that name, but at the moment couldn't remember from what.

"Yes, he'll write up a nice obituary for you," Joanna joked lightly. "Once the city of Boston learns of your drowning, we'll be able to move more freely. I'll be able to check on family affairs as well, see if I can figure out what Cirrillo's next move might be."

Joanna abruptly turned to head for the bedroom that Jane was hastily pushed into earlier. Jane was suddenly afraid of being left alone and asked, "What are you doing?"

"If I'm going to see my father, I certainly can't go dressed in these rags!" Joanna exclaimed, then bashfully set her eyes on what Jane was wearing which was practically the same thing: a slightly large man's shirt and baggy trousers. Apologetically, Joanna said, "No offense to you, of course, sweetheart."

Jane shrugged. "None taken?"

The bedroom door shut and Jane sighed deeply. So surreal.

She grabbed the pillow next to her, covered her face and fell back onto the cot. She let out a half-hearted scream, muffling the sound with the pillow, then threw that pillow across the room.

"Please, if this is a dream, let me wake up!" Jane wished aloud. Nothing happened. She didn't really expect anything to happen.

_Please. Let me wake up. _

* * *

**Joanna leaned against the closed bedroom door.**

"Please. Let me wake up," she whispered aloud to herself, before covering her mouth with her hand to suppress her sadness. Her feelings for Abby had never been more genuine than in those last few moments and to see those eyes study her as if she were someone new? It hurt more than she could bear.

With a shuddering breath, she quickly began to change. At this point, her feelings had to be checked. There were more important things happening in this city and her happiness was the least of its worries.

There was a mob boss just waiting for the prosecution to drop its case against him. Jimmy's killer was still out there, probably gloating over his victory. Whatever her brother had hidden out by the Charles River? It was probably still there and at the earliest, she needed to return to that very spot and search for it.

Jimmy died for Boston. Abigail had lost herself, her identity and nearly her life for this city.

If they could risk everything, Joanna Hastens knew that she could too. She had to.

She just prayed that a broken heart wouldn't cripple her before the task that lay before her could be completed.


	9. Chapter 8

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Apologies for the delay. Sprained my wrist, which impeded my interweb and typing activities. Thanks to those who followed, favorite-ed, and reviewed. Keeps me going!

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Leaning on a crutch, she reentered the living room where Maura waited anxiously and distractedly. The medical examiner was messing with the buttons on her blouse, fidgeting. She was nervous. If Abby were to be honest, she was a little nervous herself.

**8**

**1930s Boston**

**Abigail Rizzoli had only been associated with her new friend a few days and in that time,** she had hoped they would make some progress on proving Cirrillo was behind the murder of Jimmy. She was beginning to regret her decision to join up with the Hastens sister so hurriedly. The choice seemed logical at the time, seeing how this was Jimmy's family. Now it just seemed like total disaster.

Joanna was high maintenance, to say the least. Demanding that they 'do this now' and that she 'do that later'. Not to mention the mere suggestion that Jimmy may have been hung out to dry by their father set aflame ire in Joanna that nearly scared Abby cold.

Nearly, but it would take more than an angry glare to make her back off the possibility that a mobster father may have been involved with his son's death. Abigail wasn't stupid, however. She understood that pursuing that line of accusation wasn't going to get her anywhere right now. Besides, the dealings of Joanna's mobster daddy was not the source of their latest squabble.

And in the last few days, they had been through many, many, _many _squabbles. The kind of arguments Abigail would've thought to be the result of many years of friendship and lengthy escapades, not a few short days of mutual acquaintance.

"Have you considered wearing anything less . . . rumpled?" Joanna asked as sweetly as she could. Somehow, she had refrained from using the term 'manly'.

Abigail frowned. "Remember what I said? About how I dressed?"

"Yes, yes. If I didn't like it, then 'take a hike'," Joanna mocked, motioning with her thumb over her shoulder dramatically.

"I also seem to remember you saying you liked it anyway," Abby noted smugly, folding her arms now and leaning in the doorway of the bedroom. "What's wrong with it now?"

"What's wrong?" Joanna scoffed. "What's wrong is that we're here in my father's home with many of his friends. These friends just so happen to be some of Boston's finest criminals and you show up wearing _that_! Not to mention some of those men may recognize you dressed that way."

Abigail pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's a shame that _The Robber_ is the only place in town in which every outlaw congregates."

"_All of Boston_ would recognize you in that get up," Joanna sneered. "Not just the patrons at my father's establishment."

"You failed to mention this was a formal affair," Abigail reminded her. "You told me I would be able to mingle with some potential suspects."

"Mingle at a 'dinner party'!" Joanna said pointedly. "Dinner. As in formal."

"Well, I'm sorry, sweetheart. I don't have a dress," Abigail said resolutely. "Deal with it."

At that, Joanna gave her most wicked smile. "I'll deal with it, alright. What size are you? I'm sure I have something that will fit."

Abigail's eyes grew large. She could deal with angry, pompous men. She could tango with the best of them in the courtroom, when given the opportunity. She could stride into _The Robber_, size up the riff raft in there and challenge all takers. But this? There was nothing scarier than a determined woman with a high sensibility for fashion and presentation.

It was this that constantly had Abby reconsidering this new relationship.

"Are we trying to find Jimmy's killer or not?" Joanna said strongly, eyes narrowing.

Abigail stiffened. "Of course."

"Then undress and put this on," Joanna ordered, having already found a dress in her wardrobe and throwing it at her.

"Right now?" Abigail said, somewhat alarmed at the suggestion. She unconsciously balled up the dress as she caught it. It was absolutely unlike anything she would ever consider wearing. Far less material than she was used to and no doubt something her mother-in-law would certainly call her a common whore for wearing.

"We don't have all night, dear," Joanna said, cracking a bit of a smile. She was teasing. It seemed as if everything was a game to Joanna, at least until it wasn't.

Abigail smirked. "You are certifiable, lady."

"If you don't like it, take a hike," Joanna said mockingly.

And wasn't that the problem?

Abigail did like it. She liked Joanna more than she should.

* * *

**Present Day Boston**

**Abigail Rizzoli gazed at the wardrobe and found herself sighing happily.** If only she could keep a closet like this living with Bobby. She constantly found herself weeding through the dresses to get to more sensible clothing and more sensible shoes.

The dresses were mostly gifts from his family insisting she outfit herself more like a lady. No one was going to take a woman lawyer seriously, especially if that woman insisted on trousers and men's shirts as her everyday attire. What husband would want his wife to dress like a man?

Further, what man would want an independent woman like Abby? One that didn't listen or cook dinner? A woman who still had not born any children?

"He still married me anyway," Abby said to no one. He stuck it out with her, even through all that had happened during Cirrillo's trial.

With a hand, she picked through the hanging clothes.

Occasionally she mixed up the two forms of attire, blouses and trousers. Heeled shoes were a favorite. She liked the heels when in court. They added to her already abnormal height and gave her a menacing presence. She enjoyed watching men stand taller and puff out their chests, if only to reassert their manliness and strength.

Abby examined the clothing for a moment longer before deciding on a short sleeved shirt with the word BOSTON printed across the front. She found some pants, the fabric soft and the color a solid blue. It was comfortable, much better than the suit she had been stuffed back into at the hospital.

Leaning on a crutch, she reentered the living room where Maura waited anxiously and distractedly. The medical examiner was messing with the buttons on her blouse, fidgeting. She was nervous. If Abby were to be honest, she was a little nervous herself.

Abby doubted that this counted as some formal affair, but she still felt underdressed next to Dr. Isles. She cleared her throat to grab the doctor's attention.

Maura's head snapped up, a smile wrapped her face instantly. "So, I see you found the closet. I apologize for Jane's lack of fashion sense."

"I like it, actually," Abby replied easily, then let her eyes roam over the space. "She lives here?"

Abby could see Maura was still having trouble referring to Jane as another person, but she was trying and so far she had held her promise. She was calling her Abby, albeit sparingly.

After a pause, Maura answered, "Jane loves it here."

"It's very orderly, but dusty. I take it she's not here much."

"You're quite observant."

"Hazards of marrying a detective," Abby joked mildly. She and Bobby were having troubles, sure, but she was beginning to miss him. "That, and our home was the same. Barely lived in."

Maura noted the sad twinge on that statement.

"Please don't do that," Abby sighed.

"Do what?"

"That look. Please," Abby explained. "I don't want pity. I want answers."

"You need rest," Maura insisted, rising from the couch. She walked over to Abby and grasped her upper arms with genuine concern. "I know you want to jump right back into whatever is going on, but you can't do that in your condition. You nearly drowned. You've been weakened by hypothermia."

"I'm quite capable of a great many things, Dr. Isles," Abby said, unable to keep from smirking. "I became Boston's first prominent female lawyer. I can survive drowning accidents and jump through time. If I can do those things, I can most certainly investigate my own death. A death you insist has happened, yet here I stand."

Maura shook her head at the stubborn woman before her and wondered how Jane couldn't remember her life. She couldn't remember her family. She couldn't remember her best friend. She unquestionably had no trouble remembering how to be a smartass.

Maura threw up her hands in defeat, bent down to the couch to retrieve a folder and held it up. "I found more on _your_ death. I thought we could go through it together."

Actually, Maura hoped this would be the catalyst that forced Jane to remember who she was. The proof was in the papers (and in the death certificate she found after some really intense digging).

"Well, this is sure to be the bee's knee's," Abby groused, taking the folder from Maura.

Maura's face lit up just then. "I understand that reference! Typical slang for the 30s, expressing something that is terrific or a passing fad. Of course, your tone might suggest you were being sarcastic. In which case, you're not too thrilled about reading all this, are you?"

Abby paused from her quick perusal of the documents, taking in the seriousness of Maura's expression and question. "Uh, you like this all the time, sweetheart?"

"Like what?"

Abby had struck a nerve, she could tell. "Never mind."

Maura cast her eyes away from the curious scrutiny. She had never really been shy about her endless chasm of what Jane would call "useless facts". In front of this Jane, however, she felt as if she were stumbling through the beginning stages of the best friendship she had ever been privy to. It felt very strange to start this process all over again.

"What else do you know?"

The inquiry surprised Maura. She returned her eyes back to New Jane. She was asking with real interest. Proudly, Maura answered, "I know many things. I guess I should ask you, what would you like to know?"

Abby chuckled. With a shrug, she threw out the first thing that came to mind. "Why is the sky blue?"

"It's the rays of the sun reflecting off the gases in the atmosphere. Nitrogen is the primary culprit."

"You actually had an answer," Abby replied, not hiding her surprise. "What the hell is nitrogen?"

"It's a colorless, odorless gas that makes up nearly four fifths of the Earth's atmosphere. It is a common ingredient in fertilizers and explosives."

Abby seemed to almost stop breathing as she rose an eyebrow. "Really? It's in the air right now?"

Maura wanted to laugh, but managed not to.

There were so many similarities, moments when she thought that maybe Jane was here with her. This whole exchange felt so familiar, as if this friendly banter of theirs was the genuine article.

"As much as I love talking about the periodic table, I suspect these are not the questions you want to ask me." Maura's tone was gentle, yet firm.

With a sigh, Abby shook her head. "No, they are not. My questions are the kind you clearly stated you could not answer. Jeez, I don't even know if I want to ask them." She paused and then asked meekly, "Do you think Jane would ask them?"

"Are you asking if I believe Jane had an affinity for the undead, magic or supernatural irrationalities?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose," Abby said with a smirk.

"No, she did not," Maura replied resolutely. "I must admit, though, I have found myself caught up in such nonsense on occasion."

"Like now?"

Maura's ears began to burn red. "I don't mean to say that you are nonsense! I'm sorry, I didn't. . ."

"Maura, it's okay. I think this is strange too, remember?" Abby reassured her, placing a hand on Maura's forearm. "I was joking."

"Right, sometimes I miss the tell-tale inflections in a person's voice when they are making a joke," Maura said somewhat absently, trying to ignore the hand on her forearm. The contact was warm and it reminded her so much of Jane and all she wanted was to give Jane a hug.

She did not.

She resumed flipping through some of the articles, now dutifully ignoring the woman next to her. Her motions were stilled when that same hand she had tried to ignore covered her own.

"Maura, I appreciate all of this," Abby said. "I just don't think reading anymore about my death will help me here. Maybe you should fill me in on Jane's case. How about we start at the river? Why was she there?"

Recounting facts. Good. Maura could do that.

Maura placed the articles back on the coffee table. "We were following a lead. I found some evidence on the victim's body that led us to some environmentalists cleaning the river. As soon as our suspect was made, he ran. Jane struggled with him and next thing I know, they both fell in. They disappeared."

"Did your suspect have a knife?"

Maura shook her head. "No. Why?"

"I guess it's not important," Abby sighed. "The man who attacked me had a knife. He managed to slice me here." She pointed to her abdomen. "It's one of the few things I remember before waking up in that hospital bed."

"You were stabbed there?"

"Yes," Abby replied slowly. "Why?"

Maura's eyes widened as she suddenly reached forward and pulled at the BOSTON t-shirt.

"Whoa, doll. Buy me a drink first!"

"No, you don't understand," Maura said quickly, frightened. "You pointed to the exact same spot that Jane was . . . shot." She pulled the shirt up to reveal the surgical scar that had been left behind. A reminder of what had happened. Maura put some pressure on it and got the reaction she hoped she would not get. A loud yelp of pain, as if the wound was just as fresh as the day it happened.

"Okay, what is going on," Abby whined, pushing Maura's hands away. "Is it common for you to pull at Jane's clothes and then purposely poke her injuries?"

"Actually, she's really quite stubborn when it comes to . . .," Maura began.

"Forget I asked," Abby cut her off, raising her hand for emphasis.

"That shouldn't have hurt you," Maura sputtered. She was trying to search her mind for an answer. "Why did that hurt? Look at the scar. It's healed over nicely. Stitches are gone. Why did that hurt you?"

"Because I was stabbed!" Abby repeated pointedly.

"No, _Jane was shot_," Maura corrected. "Jane shouldn't feel that kind of pain, not when . . . it's healed. Jane wasn't stabbed at the river. She wasn't. . ."

Abby encouraged her. "Jane is all healed up, right? Clearly, I am not." And just as Maura was about to protest again, she noticed the blood soaked stain on the t-shirt. Somehow the wound had reopened. How did that happen?

"I don't understand," Maura mumbled.

"Neither do I, but Maura. I think I need some help here," Abby said, groaning at the effort to stand up. "You're a doctor, right? You gotta close this up."

"What is with everyone thinking I can perform miracle surgery?" Maura complained, grabbing Abby by the arm and leading her back to the bedroom to lie down. "I'm a Medical Examiner. I work with dead people, not live ones. I shouldn't have to tell you this! You already know this!"

"For Pete's sake,_ Jane_ knows you! _I_ don't!" Abby nearly yelled, followed by an even louder scream at the pain. It was happening all over again, the moment when she was stabbed. Her memories of her struggle at the Charles were coming back vividly. It was if she was drowning all over again.

Maura was stunned. "No, no, this can't be happening."

Abby fell over onto the bed, rolled onto her back.

"I know you have the whole world figured out, Maura, but right now I need you to be a little more open-minded," Abby pleaded. "I wouldn't believe this either but this pain? It feels very real."

"I don't have the right supplies," Maura stalled a bit more.

"Maura, I trust you," Abby said, then let out another cry. Rolling her eyes, she mumbled, "So I'm bleeding to death now. This is good. I wake up in the future only to die anyway!"

That snapped Maura out of it. Jane or Not Jane, she couldn't let the woman die. No.

"Why is this happening now?" Maura said aloud, as she rummaged through Jane's medicine cabinet. She found some gauze, disinfectant. She hurriedly bent down to rummage through the vanity cabinet. There was an unopened sewing kit. It would have to do. She reentered the bedroom and said, "Why is this happening at all?"

"Listen, babe, I think it's very clear that something really powerful is going on. I can't explain it, you can't explain it, but this is happening," Abigail said, scrunching her eyes closed tightly. With a shaky breath, she asked, "So, what was that in the papers about how I died?"

Maura knelt down next to the bed and began to sanitize everything. "Abigail Rizzoli drowned, but the coroner suspected she would have bled out anyway."

"Well, let's not have history repeat itself? Hmm?" Abby pleaded.

"This is going to hurt," Maura warned, a stinging sensation forming in her eyes. This was why she didn't want to work on live people. She couldn't watch discomfort especially not the discomfort of the people she cared for. "I don't have anything to numb the pain."

Abby smiled at the thoughtfulness anyway. "Can't be worse than what I'm feeling now. If you got some hooch, that will help."

"Hooch," Maura repeated to herself, searching her brain for the definition. "Oh, alcohol! Jane has that."

Maura quickly got up and ran into the kitchen. She found a half empty bottle of rum and took it back to Abby. She opened the bottle and lifted the lip to Abby's mouth.

"Oh, that's horrible," Abby grimaced, then swallowed some more. "There. I'm ready."

"I'll clean you up as best I can," Maura explained. "A sewing needle and thread aren't exactly the best tools."

Maura began to work, trying to ignore the blood and the suppressed whimpers that emitted from the other woman. Sensing that she wouldn't get another chance to say anything before her patient passed out, she cast her determined focus onto the face of the best person she had ever come to know and respect and love. A face that looked at Maura with a desperate need to live, not necessarily with the love of a friend in need.

"You asked me if Jane would ever inquire about supernatural occurrences."

Abby nodded.

"I still don't believe that Jane would consider it. It would seem that Abigail Rizzoli, however, may have the ability to pursue such angles without prejudice."

Abby latched her fingers around Maura's wrist, feeling the warmth of her own blood on her hands and seeing it on Maura's beautiful blouse. She wanted to speak but decided her energies were best focused on getting through this surgery. Instead, she squeezed that wrist in her grasp to convey her gratitude, before hot white clouded her vision.

Maura watched those eyes close. Alarmed at first, she checked vitals only to conclude that Abby had simply loss consciousness. She hastily finished the stitching, satisfied that the bleeding was suppressed for now. She taped the gauze down over the cut, before sighing to herself with some relief that the messy part was over.

So, next step. She needed to find some pain killers for when Jane woke up. No, wait. Abby. For when Abby woke up.

After that she needed to clean up this mess as best she could, change into one of Jane's extra blouses and call the hospital. She needed to get Abby back in that bed under the care of real physicians.

She did consider not calling, but she was no good at lying. The hives would be unbelievable, she concluded. Not to mention the blood. It would take more than a few good scrubbings to rid this bedroom of the crimson mess.

Calling, however, did lead to another lie. One she wasn't sure she could pull off any better than her other choice. She needed to conjure up one hell of a story to explain how "Jane" managed to gut herself like she had been attacked by a 1930s mobster and left for dead at a river in Boston.


	10. Chapter 9

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: The wrist is still sprained. Better rotation, though. Typing hurts less. A huge thank you to those who reviewed, followed, favorite-d and everything.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Was this the moment where things had slowed down enough for her to realize what was happening? Was it okay to reflect on the last few hours, to feel all of her energy drain from her body and soul? Did she even have a choice?

**9**

**For as long as Torin Grady had been doing odd jobs for Joanna's father, he was never aware that the man had a son. **It had to be the best kept secret in Boston. So it came as a great surprise when the identity of the man he was hired to kill (and subsequently dumped at the construction site) was none other than Joanna's brother.

Jimmy Hastens.

It was never odd to see Joanna at _The Robber_ from time to time but if Jimmy was ever there, Torin never saw him or just didn't know to look for him. How had the young man been able to keep his identity cloaked for so long?

_Elusive brat, _Torin thought to himself. Or maybe it was something he had been planning for most of his young, brief life. To distance himself from Daddy. To get close to Cirrillo. How else could he have infiltrated without raising suspicion? Daddy Dearest probably had little idea what his son had been up to.

Torin wasn't really a man to ask a lot of questions, but once learning the identity of his first kill, he finally understood why Cirrillo wanted him eradicated.

Ordering the kill would demonstrate Cirrillo's strength. It would also deal a heavy blow to his primary enemy.

Torin puffed a cigar as he watched Detective Bobby Rizzoli exit the building across the street. He was fairly certain Joanna Hastens was holed up in there as well. Almost positive he saw the woman spy him from the window. Seeing how the detective's wife and Joanna befriended one another, it made sense that Bobby would track Joanna down.

Oh, and Jo.

For a brief moment, Torin felt penitence over the killing of Joanna's only sibling. But Jimmy had tried to do the impossible, going after the big man Cirrillo and in essence attempting to orchestrate a merger of the two major crime families. Jimmy Hastens had ambition, sure, but he made a grave error thinking he could change this town. Torin understood those men, understood their lust for power.

There was going to be no sharing.

Torin cranked the ignition of his car and sped away. As he drove, he felt haunted by the images of the woman he tried to drown just the night before. Abigail Rizzoli. She was fearsome and much stronger than he'd expected. It was a wonder he could keep that bearcat under the surface of the water for as long as he did.

And then suddenly she was gone.

Disappeared, like magic. Torin was definitely spooked and he scampered out of the river and straight to a church.

A few short prayers and silent pleas for forgiveness later and Torin was back out on the streets, driving around town and tailing Bobby Rizzoli. If Abigail had somehow survived that perilous fight then she would surely be back in her husband's arms.

Bobby, however, was still very much alone and his expression was both pale and grave as he stormed off in the general direction of downtown Boston. For now, it was safe to assume that the job had been done.

Maybe during the rush of it all, Torin merely lost sight of what he was doing. For all he knew, Abigail had sunk to the bottom of the river after he lost his hold on her and poor Bobby Rizzoli was getting ready to call on the police department to demand an all-out search for his wife. They would dredge the river and find her body.

That was the best case scenario and the one Torin needed to be true.

Otherwise, he might be next on Cirrillo's hit list.

* * *

**In all the excitement, Jane Rizzoli had lost perspective. **Her growling stomach was none too pleased with this development, but really, how was she expected to remember that eating should be a priority when a mobster was trying to drown her? Lest she forget that she was now occupying the body of her long dead relative and that her best friend lookalike was only a bedroom away. Oh, and did she mention she was married now?

Was this the moment where things had slowed down enough for her to realize what was happening? Was it okay to reflect on the last few hours, to feel all of her energy drain from her body and soul? Did she even have a choice?

Jane was studying the stitching job in the bathroom mirror, grimacing in pain at only the slightest of movements. So real. It couldn't be a dream. She was here, in this time and in this place. She was Abigail.

And then the gleam of gold caught her eye.

She turned around and noticed the tub for the first time, with little gold feet seeming to do the impossible, stabilizing what looked to be a very weighted cast iron drum. She shut her eyes for a moment and thought, a glass of wine and a long bath would be just what the doctor ordered. When she opened them again, a pair of eyes greeted her in the mirror and momentarily, Jane felt that her daydream had morphed into reality and that somehow, Maura was there with her.

"Maur. . .," she whispered, even as the image cleared up and Joanna returned her gaze with concern alight on her features.

Why would Maura be here? Jane was still stuck in the 1930s with a woman that looked like Maura, but was not. Joanna had merely shed her 'trumping around in riverbed clothes' for something classier and very red. Something more like Maura.

"I think I should wrap it," Joanna said quietly, holding up some gauze for Jane to see.

Jane swallowed hard around the lump in her throat and agreed, "You're probably right. Anything to help me manage."

Jane did her best to stand still, pressed against the sink, while Joanna began to wrap the bandage around her waist as tightly as possible.

And that was that. Jane just couldn't stand there any longer.

Joanna heard the sniffle first, braced herself for what she knew she was about to see, because honestly she had wanted nothing more than to cry herself. The woman was slowly breaking right before her, one tear sliding down her cheek. Then two. Then three. Joanna stiffened, battling between her need to provide comfort and her own want to break right along with her.

"I'm sorry," Jane breathed out, covering her mouth with her hands, then hastily wiping away her tears. Clearly embarrassed that she broke at all, not that Joanna could blame her. "I just. . .I keep thinking . . ."

"That you will wake up?" Joanna whispered, feeling her own eyes begin to water. She stopped wrapping the bandage and stood straighter. She met eyes with Abigail (or Jane). "That everything you knew will come back and that I will be her and that you will be you?"

What a question to ask! Joanna could feel herself slipping into this new reality. She didn't like it.

"But I _am _me," Jane said strongly. "I _feel_ like me, but _all of this_ is not me."

"And I am not Maura," Joanna added, unsure of her need to clarify such a thing. The identity crisis did not lie within her, but clearly the confusion within Jane was catching. Joanna could not allow that to skew her judgment, no matter how badly she wanted Abby to return. "If you are not Abby, then stop looking at me like I am her."

Jane lowered her gaze some. "That's fair. I'm sorry."

Nuts. Now Joanna felt as if she kicked the poor woman's puppy, but she had to remain steadfast. Any little bit of pity and she wouldn't be able to finish what they started. They would both drown in their own misery and sadness.

"Lift your arms," Joanna instructed, wrapping the gauze around a few more times.

Jane managed to laugh while Joanna worked, a sad sound for what it was worth. "I mean, for Christ's sake, my grandmother had a claw bathtub. And there's one here, like, it's normal. And these fucking, awful black and white tiles. Who designed this place? Maura would probably love it, though. She would think it antique-y and clever."

"Whereas I find it modern and European," Joanna said softly, then backed away. "All done. Can you breathe?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Jane confirmed. Straightening, she was all business again. "What's next?"

Good question. Joanna was certainly making this up as they went along now. So much had changed.

"You get to rest here. I have to see my father," Joanna said, finally deciding.

Jane immediately protested. "No way. Where you go, I go."

"You can't follow me there," Joanna warned. "You still look like my Abby and as we speak, her death is being confirmed by her husband. You cannot show up at our old hangout as if nothing has happened. There is no need to endanger you further. I can run to _The Robber_ alone. Won't take but a few minutes."

Jane shook her head stubbornly. "I'm sorry, but this is not how it works. I'm going with you."

"For what purpose?"

"Simply put, I can't figure out how to get back to my decade if I sit around. I also don't care how well you know this town. I know criminals. I know their appetites for unarmed women walking alone. I'm going with you." Jane pulled her shirt down over the new bandages and cringed only a little bit. Her mobility would be limited, but at least the wound would be protected.

"So two unarmed women is better?"

"I've been trained to protect those I care about."

"I don't need protecting. And don't pretend to care about me."

"I'm not asking permission for either of those things," Jane retorted. "And it would seem I can't help my feelings any more than you can."

"My feelings have no bearing here," Joanna replied weakly. "Yours shouldn't either."

Jane chuckled. "I don't like it, but they are there. Abby was practically your third arm? Well, Maura was mine. We remind each other of them, we can't help that."

Joanna stiffened, not once considering that should all this crazy time traveling mess be true (and it was getting harder and harder to believe that it weren't) that this Jane had lost people too. In fact, the people she knew, hadn't even born yet! With a heavy heart, Joanna acknowledged this and said, "It seems we both have some adjusting to do."

Jane sighed deeply. "Yeah, I guess we do." She went to move, but groaned instead. She asked, "You got any more of that stuff?"

Joanna frowned. "The morphine? A little. You sure you want me to pump you more of that 'stuff'?"

"Oh, you know what? Never mind. I only got into a one-sided knife fight with a mobster and was sliced!"

Joanna rolled her eyes. "You don't have to be mean." She left the bathroom promptly and went to retrieve more "M" for Abby. Er, Jane. Whatever. She busied herself with the morphine, finding that her hands had begun to shake a little and that her heart was beating faster.

What was going on with her? Perhaps Jane was right? Right in such a way that Joanna couldn't ignore her feelings any more than if Abby was still with her in this very moment? She forced herself still, to take a calming breath. In the nose, out the mouth. . .

Joanna huffed, grabbing the rest of what she needed. She stalked over and pushed against the other woman's chest until she fell to the cot. Jane was surprised by the sudden change in mood.

"Whoa, you alright?" Jane asked, falling to the cot with a plop.

Joanna scraped the chair across the floor to sit on it in a rather defiant way. "I'll have you know that everything about this is just. . .just . . ."

"Insane?" Jane offered.

"Certifiably, so!" Joanna agreed, rolling up the sleeve on Jane's arm. "You don't remember this case. You don't remember my brother or Cirrillo. I mean, even your husband! I saw you look at him as if he were a complete stranger! How am I supposed to do this when all you do is look like my Abby and yet act like this punch-drunk crazy claiming to be from the future!"

"Ow!" Jane yelped, the needle of morphine plunging into her vein. "Jesus! What the hell happened to 'We both have to do some adjusting'?"

"Serves you right!" Joanna continued, speaking as if she had stabbed herself in the arm just then. Words tumbling out laced with pain. "How could you forget who you are? How could you forget. . ."

_Me._

"You," Jane said softly, sitting back some. She narrowed her eyes a bit in thought, then they widened just as quickly. "She _is_ more than your friend."

"Abby holds a special place in my heart," Joanna said rigidly. "But we have never been more than friends."

"Which might explain why you just stabbed me with a freakin' needle!" Jane said, starting to raise her voice, but quickly calmed down. "Listen, I'm sorry. I really am sorry, but this is no picnic for me either, okay? Just because I'm not her doesn't mean I won't help you, Jo. I _will_ help you."

It was the first time this New Abby had addressed her with the shortened name. For some reason, it incensed Joanna more.

"Am I really to believe that? It's you going on about time traveling to the future like that's just something that happens every day. That everything about this is wrong. You don't want to help me, you want to help yourself. To get back to Maura, whoever the hell that is. So you can go on lying, if that makes you feel better."

"I get it. You're hurting. . ."

"You can't begin to understand."

Jane made a move to reach out, but decided against it. Instead, she said in a low, cracked whisper, "Believe me. I understand."

Silence fell over them. It was enough, they supposed. Enough heartbreak for now.

Jane wanted to go home. Joanna wanted to avenge her brother. Their motives were not aligned, no point in arguing that.

White noise filled the empty space between them. As Joanna rose from the chair to put away her supplies, fingers closed around her wrist to keep her from walking away.

"Just wait a second," Jane pleaded quietly. "Please."

So she waited.

"I do want to go home," Jane began. "But as someone who admires Abby for what she embodied and for what she stood for, I want to do everything I can to find out why anyone would want her dead. I need to do that, for her."

Joanna relented a little, sitting back down on the chair. "I think I might believe you when you say that."

Jane smiled. "Which part? The part when I say I'm not Abby or the part when I say I want to help you?"

This actually elicited a smile from the reluctant benefactor. "That is such an unfair question."

"Yeah, maybe it is," Jane conceded. For the second time in just a few short minutes, Jane appeared bashful. "Even still, maybe I've got a soft spot for you too. Maybe I just want to help you."

"How could you? If what you say is true, you hardly know me."

"Yeah, funny," Jane said softly. With a sigh, she pushed herself up onto the cot completely and stretched out. "Compromise. I rest for a few hours, then we go to _The Robber_ together, deal?"

Joanna thought for a moment. "I guess that will be okay. As we speak, Bobby is going to arrange to have your death confirmed in the papers. I mean, Abby's death. We have some time."

"Okay," Jane said, casting her gaze away from the sorrowful expression of the other woman.

Was this really the event she had read about all those years in the future? The death of Abigail Rizzoli at the hands of lowlife mobsters? Or was she living the moment when Abigail decided to fake her own death? Tried to orchestrate the take down of a gang of thugs by becoming their ghost?

* * *

"I let you come this far. Just trust me."

"I guess I am surprised you didn't lace my morphine with some knock out drug and then left me by myself."

Joanna had to sigh, casting a weary glance at Jane. Jane just shrugged in response, which only exasperated Joanna more. "Please, I wouldn't even _know_ how to do that."

"How do I know that? You're a mystery to me, right?" Jane said, and perhaps would have said more, but Joanna placed a finger to her lips. It immediately shut her up.

"Jane (and it pains me to call you that). Please be quiet," Joanna pleaded, not removing her finger from the woman's lips. "I am going inside and you are waiting here. No arguments. Understood?"

Jane felt strangely bewitched and slightly galled by Joanna's forwardness, but she didn't speak. She just nodded her agreement. Joanna removed her finger, hesitated long enough to ensure that Jane was not going to talk again and then crossed the street to _The Robber. _

Jane then took in her surroundings, briefly wondering why she thought it was a brilliant idea to walk right up to this place in broad daylight where anyone could recognize her as Abby.

* * *

**There were some cooks at the stove, which was a bit odd given the time of morning.** Dinner wasn't to be served for a few hours more. She reached a door in the back and knocked three times. She heard the lock give way, her signal to go in.

She pushed her way inside and shut the door behind her. A bodyguard stood to her left. A man sat at the desk, looking at her expectantly while some vegetables and a hunk of steak steamed under him. Well, that explained the cooks. His mustache was neatly trimmed, as usual. He hid his fading red hair under a bowler hat. He had a smile reaching his ears, accenting his pink cheeks.

"Mr. Doyle," she greeted him, giving a slight curtsy.

Mr. Doyle looked like apple pie, but she knew how cold he could be. Lately, he had been nothing but loving with her. The loss of a jaded son will help a father love the daughter he usually ignored.

"What a lady, she is," Doyle said, continuing to smile. His meal forgotten for the moment. "Now stop that, sweetheart. Don't call me that. Call me Dad."

"We have a problem," Joanna said grimly.

Doyle huffed. "Other than my idiot son getting himself killed over idealism and rainbows?"

"If I had known what Jimmy was planning. . .," Joanna began.

"What, darling? You would have told me?" Doyle said with a laugh. "I'm not stupid, Jo."

No, he wasn't. It was moments like this Joanna briefly wondered if her Daddy was aware of her and Abby snooping through his financial records. Did he actually suspect that she had known for years what her brother had been trying to accomplish?

"He wanted to clear the way for us," Joanna argued. "I know you don't believe that, but he just wanted us to thrive. To be rid of Cirrillo and his scum for good."

"Well, in a few weeks' time, the prosecution will have no choice but to wrap up their case," Doyle said, with little care in his voice. "The judge (who is probably paid off) will only delay the trial for so long while our infamous Boston police and their prosecutors scramble for a new witness."

"They still have evidence to present," Joanna said, but even her own protestations were weak. Abigail knew how thin the case would be without Jimmy. They were running out of time.

"Well, where the law fails, I will succeed," Doyle promised darkly. "They'll regret taking my son."

Joanna knew he would hold his promise. She didn't want any more bloodshed, but her desire to take out the man who orchestrated her brother's death and the attempt on Abby's life had her yearning for revenge probably more so than her father. She held her father's gaze, though, and spoke strongly, "The problem doesn't just lie with Jimmy's mistakes. Something else has happened."

"The lawyer?"

Reluctantly, Joanna nodded. "Yes. There was an attempt on her life. She's different."

"What are you asking me? To protect her? To support Jimmy's crazy notions?" Doyle queried, the laughter evident in his eyes. "Jimmy should have never dragged anyone else into his crazy schemes, especially you."

"I'm asking you to trust me," Joanna said. "Trust me now."

Doyle walked around the desk, grasped his daughter lovingly by the shoulders. "I do trust you, Jo. I don't trust her or that husband of hers and if it comes down to it, I will do what I have to do to protect my family."

"I know, but it won't come to that. Not with Abby," Joanna promised. "And Bobby has too many dirty coppers in his midst to be much of threat to any of us right now."

* * *

When Joanna emerged, she appeared calm and put together, until she hooked their arms together and started to speed walk them away from the building.

"Whoa, slow down. Where's the fire?" Jane asked, as they entered the flow of walking traffic on the sidewalk. "Did your father threaten to kill you or something?"

It was meant to be a joke, but Joanna's stony expression took the laughter right out of Jane's words. She pulled them both to a stop and repeated, "Seriously, are you alright?"

"I just want to get away from there," Joanna said, forcing them to walk again.

It was a bit much, going in there. Joanna and Abigail made all their plans at _The Robber. _ They rooted through her father's office together. Their friendship began there. The memories were still too fresh and the woman hooked to her arm was just another reminder that all she was going to have were memories.

Joanna came to a stop near a park, wondered if she should even tell Jane what she confided in her father. She really should have left it alone, with Abigail's obituary to be in tomorrow's paper for sure.

She turned to Jane and blurted out, "I told him you were alive."

"What?" Jane hissed. She was stunned, though she was sure she hadn't heard everything. "This is your genius plan? What you so urgently had to tell your father? I don't even know the man!"

"Right, I know, I mean," Joanna stammered. "Listen, Abby knows Mr. Doyle and she would understand why I told him."

If Jane was stunned before, she was downright paralyzed now. "Doyle? Your father's name is Doyle?"

"You know the name?"

Of course she knew the name. It was only the surname of Maura's biological mobster dad.

"Not the issue," Jane said as she unconsciously took a step away from Joanna. "Your brother, he was supposed to testify against a mob boss and Abby was the lawyer encouraging him all the way. I'm going to take a wild guess that Daddy wasn't too happy with this."

"Jane, please, Abby already understood this. I need you to understand too," Joanna tried to interject.

"Understand what? That you told your mobster dad that she is alive? What if he's behind your brother's death? Did you ever think of that?"

"_We did_," Joanna said pointedly. "No one else knows, except for Bobby. If someone comes after us, then I'll know for sure. I'll know who our leak is."

Jane was still fuming, but she took in the last few words of Joanna's argument slowly. The leak. Jane narrowed her eyes. "You suspect Abigail's husband?"

"Not really him, just the coppers he works with," Joanna clarified. "Bobby can't keep secret what he works on. His department will surely want to confirm your death when he announces it."

Jane certainly wasn't happy and maybe she would've taken more time to figure out the logic behind Joanna's decision making, but she felt something peculiar just then.

She felt nothing.

Jane pulled up on her shirt immediately to which Joanna slapped at her hands in response.

"What are you doing? We're in a public park!"

"It stopped hurting," Jane said slowly. "I don't know why, but I feel great."

"It's the morphine. . ."

"No, it's not," Jane insisted, pulling at her shirt and then pulling at the bandages.

"Can't this wait until we. . .," Joanna began, but stopped just as the fabric fell away. The blood was dried. Bits of stitching had literally been pushed out, but the faint scar left behind indicated _months_ of healing. As if the attack hadn't happened last night. Joanna gasped, "What in the world. . ."

Jane glanced at Joanna. "That's my surgical scar from when I was shot. Something is happening."

"You were shot?"

"Well, self-inflicted. Long story, but right here," Jane said quickly, almost to herself. "It's not just my mind that is here. Parts of me, of who I am are following me."

A new voice entered the conversation. An old, tired one. "As if you're becoming whole again?"

Jane looked up. There was a tired, weathered looking man standing in front of them now. Joanna cleared up the identity mystery quickly by hissing, "Oscar? What the hell are you doing here?"

Jane frowned. Oscar? Wasn't he supposed to be writing Abby's obituary?


	11. Chapter 10

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: I didn't know where to end this. It's a bit longer than other chapters. Thanks to all who reviewed, favorite-d, and followed. It's much appreciated.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Before her eyes, she watched an imaginary knife reopen a wound that had long since healed over and she watched the blood seep into that worn out, BOSTON t-shirt, changing the dull, gray fibers into a deep magenta.

**10**

**Ultimately, Dr. Maura Isles did not take Abigail to the hospital. ** She did not call Frost or Korsak. She didn't even call Angela which took a lot of self-convincing and ridiculous reasoning to ease her conscious enough to forego that phone call. In the end the reasons she found herself on her hands and knees scrubbing at the blood drops in the carpet all amounted to this newfound truth: the woman in that bed was not Jane Rizzoli.

Had it been Jane, she wouldn't have hesitated to rush her to the hospital. She wouldn't have delayed a phone call to Angela or Frankie or Tommy. She might still be here cleaning up the blood, but that was neither here nor there. Just simply understanding that the impossible was possible had changed everything!

Well, perhaps not everything. She still believed that something tangible had caused this. A real thing in this universe whether it be some unknown property or mineral or some buried meteor from space, Maura believed without a doubt that something caused this. These things didn't just happen.

Not without help.

She also wasn't ruling out the brain trauma completely. The mind was a powerful vessel. But did she really think that Jane believed so strongly that she was Abby that her body was able to replicate the injury that resulted from a stabbing? Perhaps not.

Either way, she now knew that the only way to make any progress was to let Abby take the lead. What else could she possibly do? Before her eyes, she watched an imaginary knife reopen a wound that had long since healed over and she watched the blood seep into that worn out, BOSTON t-shirt, changing the dull, gray fibers into a deep magenta. How could she ignore that? Well, she couldn't.

She wasn't sure she had much choice in the matter. Following Abby seemed to be the only path that led her back to Jane. Figuring out how an old, lazy river in Boston had transformed the universe that they all occupied wasn't exactly the kind of scientific adventure Maura had been expecting, but that didn't make it any less intriguing.

"Your blouse was ruined. I don't need to be a detective to know you dropped some heavy sugar to buy it."

Maura glanced up from her spot on the floor. Abby had awakened, still flat on her back but with her head turned to watch Maura as she worked. Abby's pain was tangibly written on her face, but in true Rizzoli fashion, she was either ignoring it or willing the agony to go away. Had it not been for the fact Maura was trying to mop up the mess from their little surgery, she could very much confuse this personality for her Jane.

With a noncommittal shrug, Maura said, "Don't worry about it. A two hundred and eighty two dollar blouse is replaceable. Your life is not."

Abby's eyes grew large. "Two hundred and eighty two?"

Maura managed to laugh now. "Are you sure you're not Jane?"

Abby could sense the doctor was teasing. Her expression softened and she rolled her eyes. "There is nothing wrong with being frugal, Dr. Isles."

"Without frugality none can be rich, and with it very few would be poor," Maura quoted, but before she could continue on about the originator of the quote and a brief history, she was surprised yet again.

"Samuel Johnson," Abby said. At Maura's look, she deduced, "I take it Jane doesn't delve much into literature or poetry."

Maura smiled easily, countless memories of her best friend flubbing history facts (then surprisingly quoting other facts) flooding her conscious. "I'm afraid not."

The task of cleaning up the blood in the carpet nearly forgotten (and for the most part a fruitless endeavor), Maura stood and made her way over to the bed to check on the mysterious wound. Before proceeding, she asked permission, not wanting to assume that Abby would just accept her fussing. Not to say that Jane was so inclined to allow Maura to poke and prod her when injured, but the realization that Maura truly didn't know this woman was making her more cautious.

Abby nodded, felt her body tense as Maura took care to peel away the gauze she had taped down to her abdomen. The fabric was a bloody mess and quickly, Maura rose from the bed and scampered into the bathroom. She returned quickly with a warm wash cloth and gently began to clean the wound. Despite her best efforts, Maura could tell the cleaning hurt, but it had to be done.

Abby watched each movement with bated breath, Maura Isles and Joanna Hastens starting to become a blurred image of care, comfort, solace. And how she missed Jo!

Abby loathed how much the absence hurt, seeing how when their relationship began, Abigail swore to herself that their association was purely business. It was about Jimmy and his death and what they would do together to rectify it. But how could Abigail kid herself? The moment Jo sat down and drank her whiskey without so much of an introduction, Abby had been smitten.

Maura was saying something about how the injury should heal nicely despite the butcher job she did of closing it up. Abby wasn't really hearing it. She could partially sense the tightening of fresh, clean bandages on her torso, but mostly all she could note was the fragrance Maura was wearing. It was strikingly similar to Jo.

Joanna. Jo was not here and yet Abby was completely distracted as if she were. Finally, focusing, she could see Maura now watching her, eyes full of question. Abby let her mouth fall open in embarrassment, then shut it again. She had no idea what was just asked.

Meekly, she said, "Um, did you say something?"

Maura smirked. She smirked as if she knew Abby was hiding some deep secret, but how could Maura know anything about her? Simply put, they didn't know one another, not in such a way that would render such unease inside of Abby. And yet Maura continued to grin and Abby had to conclude that yes, Maura reminded her of Joanna almost too much. A tell-tale mischievousness was obvious in both women.

But here she was comparing the two and did she not think Maura wouldn't compare her to Jane? That perhaps these similarities were giving Maura an intimate template on how Abigail Rizzoli functioned?

Maura's expression was alight with humor as she observed aloud. "Your pupils are dilated. You're worrying your bottom lip with your teeth."

Or body language was also a good indicator. Nuts.

"My what are what?" Abby mumbled, not exactly sure what spell had just come over her, but she knew without a doubt she had been caught. She had been caught confusing Maura for Joanna and despite knowing this truth, she couldn't really tear her gaze away from Maura's, not even now. She felt the blush rising up her cheeks and tipping at her ears.

Maura could sense the woman was uncomfortable, very similar to how a certain detective might be. Yet she couldn't stave off her curiosity, furrowing her brow in deep thought. She said, "It can't be me, because you say you don't remember me. Who is it? Who do I remind you of? What's her name?"

Abby shook her head, managed a squeak. "Her name?"

"I have very feminine qualities," Maura shrugged. "And even though that isn't always an indicator, I doubt you're confusing me for another man. And while I'm sure the subject for you is taboo, I have no problem discussing the fluidity of sexuality. So, who is she? Is it the woman you mentioned from before?"

"Listen, it's no one," Abby said huffily. How did pupil dilation lead to discussing sexuality? "Besides, I'm married to a good man, a good detective. Or at least, I was married to him so even if you did remind me of someone else, that someone else and I are very clear on the status of our relationship."

Maura frowned, her curious nature had steamrolled her into territory that Abby clearly didn't want to enter. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

"Don't worry about it, okay? Let's just move on. I want to figure out my next steps," Abby groused, forcing herself into a sitting position that nearly had her cry out in pain. To keep Maura from springing into mother hen mode, she stifled that cry by biting her tongue. "This whole knife thing is just an unexpected set-back."

"I'd call it more than a set-back."

"An annoyance?"

"You're really in no condition to do anything tonight," Maura admonished lightly. Unconsciously, she tucked some unruly, black hair behind Abby's shoulder. "You should sleep tonight. We'll figure it out in the morning."

Before Abby could question again the ease in which Maura fussed with her hair, a shrill sound startled them both. Ah, yes. Modern technology. That portable telephone.

Maura politely excused herself, saw that it was Korsak and immediately answered it. "Vince?"

"Hey, Doc," he greeted her. "I did some digging on those two names you gave me earlier. Robert Rizzoli was in fact a detective with the Boston Police Department, the height of his career being the investigation of Jimmy Hastens death and his wife's subsequent murder during the 1930s."

"Murder?" Maura questioned, leaving Jane's room and pulling the door closed behind her. "It was ruled a drowning."

"The notes in these files suggest otherwise," Korsak said. "Lack of evidence (and the simple fact that it was his wife) forced the department to keep Rizzoli from pursuing."

"And what about the second name? Joanna?"

"You will have to thank Frost for that, but I will have to warn you Doc. It gets a little weird," Korsak said, his voice almost grave sounding.

Maura wondered just how much weirder it could get. "Go on, Detective."

"A witness statement for the Rizzoli drowning, or murder. Joanna Hastens discovered the body. And this is what Frost dug up on her. Her father was a well-known mobster, who –get this-has the last name of Doyle, and he was top dog while Dom Cirrillo was on trial." Maura grew silent. She heard Korsak laugh. "What did I tell ya? Weird, right?"

"Truly," Maura agreed, shutting her eyes as that news sunk in. "Korsak, thank you. This helps me. It will help Ab … Jane too."

"I hope so, Maura. Tell her we can't wait until she's back to her normal self," Korsak said, his love and concern felt so keenly, even as the cell's reception crackled during the exchange.

Maura ended the call on her phone.

Was it possible that Joanna Hastens was a distant relative of hers? Maybe Joanna was the woman that Abby clearly had begun to see in her? Maura reentered the bedroom to find a stubbornly impatient patient struggling to climb out of the bed. Immediately, Maura wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gripped Abby's arms tightly and helped her to stand.

Abby's ears turned a bit red. "Thank you. I just . . . I can't sit here and do nothing."

"Joanna Hastens," Maura said. She hadn't meant to blurt it out just now, but she couldn't help it. "My biological father's last name is Doyle and so is Joanna's. I don't think that's a coincidence."

"You just jump right in there," Abby said, chuckling uneasily. "Well, I guess I'm inclined to agree with you. Even without you confirming it, there's no mistaking that Doyle glint in your eyes."

Maura wasn't sure if that was a compliment or merely an observation, but it made her smile anyway. Just simply hearing Abby confirm a likeness to someone else, to family, was comforting. Even if this family was long since gone and was riddled with crime in its blood, she was finding out that her family was out there. That was more relief than most adopted children could hope for.

"So, your biological father," Abby mused aloud. "Not very close with him?"

"I didn't know him for most of my life," Maura said sadly. "It took the death of my brother to bring us together."

Maura led Abby back into the family room, eased Abby down onto the couch. Maura took note of the softness in Abby's eyes, the curious squint of her brow. While she went to clean up all the newspaper copies and prints concerning Abigail Rizzoli, her case and her death, Maura decided to elaborate.

"My brother ended up on my autopsy table," Maura said, organizing the research. "I didn't know him either. Let's just say, his death brought to light some family history I daren't dream up on my own."

"I guess learning about Joanna and her family is giving more fodder to that imagination," Abigail remarked, pleased her words brought about an amused smile from the ME.

"I think my imagination needs a break," Maura said with a laugh. "I have images of Tommy guns and sharply dressed men smoking cigars, talking about money and drinking in speakeasies. I understand that's more or less the Hollywood retelling of the mob, but it's an easier image for me to swallow, knowing crime as I know it now."

"Well, the glamour and the parties, it's all real," Abby confirmed. "Joanna thrives in those places, but she knows how that all came to be. She knows that people died along the way. Which is why I can't sit here."

"Oh no, not tonight," Maura said in a tone that brokered no argument. "We are off tonight. You need time to heal, relax."

"I don't relax," Abby said sternly. "My life has rarely allowed for that."

Maura lowered herself onto the couch next to Abby. She searched the face of the woman, still hoping to find Jane Rizzoli in there somewhere, but she still did not see her. With a sad smile, she answered, "Well, maybe _your_ life didn't allow for relaxation, but this isn't your life anymore."

Abby went to reply, but then found she couldn't. Maura was right. She was, in effect, living someone else's life right now.

She was living Jane's life. She was wearing Jane's t-shirt. She was finding it hard not to love Jane's best friend, the ease in which Maura was accepting this crazy predicament and the faith she rested so much on Jane's shoulders. On _her _shoulders.

"Does Jane ever relax?" Abby asked curiously.

Maura smiled, using the same word Abby just used. "Rarely."

And Abby couldn't stop the smile crossing her face. She knew that her 'pupils were dilated' and that she couldn't break her gaze with the woman that looked so much like Joanna, but wasn't.

What would be the harm in just . . . no, she could not. The amount of harm that could do would be unreal, the emotional and mental repercussions would probably be unfathomable.

_Don't confuse them, Abigail. _

"So, uh, we were talking about Jane's case at the river," Abby said quickly. She needed to curtail her thoughts, to change the subject. To ease her heart. Just because she was living in this time, that didn't mean she had to give up on her own.

The question seemed to shake Maura out of this wicked charm as well. She blinked a few times as if waking from a fog. Abby didn't get where she was today without learning a few things herself. The tell-tale signs of attraction were written just as plainly on Maura as they probably were on her.

"Yes, Jane fell into the river," Maura began again. "In fact, I'm sure the autopsy of our suspect hasn't been scheduled yet. With all that happened afterward, the Jim Nolan case I'm sure will be wrapped up quickly."

"I didn't notice that until just now," Abby said, thinking aloud. "Jo's brother. His name is Jimmy."

Maura's curiosity was also peaked. "The same name of our murder victim."

"I would chalk that up to coincidence. . ." Abby began.

"But it probably is not," Maura agreed. "As interesting as this all sounds, we are still resting tonight. You can join me for the autopsy of the suspect tomorrow."

Abby's face fell. "You can't possibly expect me to sleep!"

"You better try," Maura said lightly. "I just don't have it in me to look into this tonight and I have barely slept since . . . since Jane fell into the river."

Abby seemed to relent, hearing the plea in that last statement. "First thing in the morning?"

Maura nodded. "Promise." She, against her better judgment, grabbed hold of Abby's hand. Gave it a gentle squeeze. The contact felt good, familiar. Abby tightened her hold and for a few moments, they just let silence settle over them.

_Let's just enjoy this calm, just this once. _

Maura couldn't keep her thoughts from straying, imagining a woman like Abigail Rizzoli being in love with a mobster's daughter. And she had little doubt in her mind that Abby loved Joanna. Abby's emotions weren't quite as guarded as Jane's. Talking about Joanna Hastens seemed to automatically soften her features, gave a light to her eyes that wasn't always present in them. Abby cared a great deal for Joanna, that much was certain.

"Does she know?" Maura asked, the register of her voice just a bit lower.

Abby answered that question with a question of her own, "Does Jane know?"

"I'd like to think she does."

Abigail Rizzoli had pictured a conversation like this. Well, probably not _exactly like this_, but these imagined conversations almost always ended in the way she was going to end this one. She never allowed herself the opportunity to indulge.

"She can never know," Abby replied somberly. "Our situation will never allow for it. She's the daughter of a mob boss. I'm married to a man who wants to arrest them both."

"So gender is not a concern?" Maura asked sincerely.

Abby had to chuckle. "When is gender not a concern?"

Abby found her eyes straying to Maura's mouth. It may not have been too much of a problem to love Joanna, but that would've been before she met Bobby. Abby didn't have any family before Bobby. She didn't have the scrutiny of family to plague her personal decisions. She wasn't even considering becoming an attorney until Bobby entered her life. His aspirations to help people, to speak for those who could not, well, that inspired her to do the same.

She loved her husband. She loved her job even more and both of those things happened before Joanna.

"Jo ruined everything," Abby laughed, squeezing Maura's hand even tighter. Joanna had set off a myriad of feelings that Abby didn't know she could still have. She had everything, didn't she? A good husband, a good job, everything.

And then Jimmy hatched his plan, got himself killed and left Joanna to pick up the pieces.

Jo. She had ruined her perfect life balance, but Abby could not be troubled. She loved Joanna too and nothing would ever change that. She repeated aloud, "Joanna changed everything."

_Don't confuse them, Abigail._

It was too late for that.

Before either of them knew what was happening, they found themselves gravitated toward one another, faces mere inches apart. Abby shut her eyes, just for a moment, to seize whatever little bit of self-control she had left.

Maura, for her part, was also straining to keep the space between them. An unknown, magnetic force had them so close to blurring the lines of space and time, two different worlds colliding under the pretense of love and hope. It wasn't until Maura whispered softly, "You're not Jane," did the real possibility of what could be sunk in.

And then Maura wrenched herself away, a rush of cooling air left in the wake, shocking Abby back to reality. Abby breathed in deeply as Maura released her hand and put a considerable amount of space between them on the couch. What was that? By the look of sheer terror on Maura's face, she had no idea either.

"I'm sorry, Maura," Abby puffed out, feeling as if she was just punched in the gut. "You just . . . look like her. I miss her."

_I will never see her again. _

"We should go to bed," Maura said abruptly, not quite realizing how those words tumbled out until she caught the rise of Abby's eyebrow in surprise. Quickly, she added, "To sleep. We need to sleep. I'll help you back to the bedroom. I'll sleep out here."

"Maura," Abby said, but no other words followed. She had nothing to say.

**Maura Isles shut the door to Jane's bedroom. **Normally, she would have found herself curling up next to Jane, but that woman was not Jane.

"Stupid," Maura mumbled to herself, moving to the sink to clean whatever she could, anything to try and distract her heart. How could she be this way? For a few moments, she felt as if in a trance. The ache she heard in Abby's voice, proclaiming "I miss her" with such agony.

Abby missed Joanna.

As if Maura needed any more proof. Abigail missed Joanna, said so with such conviction. Was Jane even still out there? Had they simply switched places as Maura hoped, or was Abby her new Jane? Was Jane gone forever? Maybe it was this fear that had gripped Maura so, that had her nearly make a terrible mistake. Maybe it was fear that drove Abby ever closer to her heart. Fear was overtaking them both.

Maura almost laughed aloud. She couldn't love Abby. She hardly knew the woman.

One last time with some finality, she said, "Stupid."

"Hardly," Abigail said, startling the doctor standing by the sink. Shaken, yet still resolved, Maura did not turn around. Abigail inched her way toward the kitchen, but kept her distance. "I'm sorry. I can't sleep and well, I can't ignore whatever the hell this is. No matter how much you want to."

"There is nothing to discuss," Maura shrugged, unable to face the Jane look-a-like. "Transference. I replaced Jane with you. I projected my feelings for her on you. You are not Jane. What is there to discuss?"

"You miss her," Abigail suggested casually. "It's okay to talk about it."

"Why must I do the talking?"

"Okay. Tomorrow, I'll be following you into a police station that will look so far beyond anything I could have imagined, I will probably freeze in the doorway. And I will pretend to be Jane and you will pretend that I'm Jane and as much as I don't want it to happen, by the end of the day I could be Jane. I'll lose myself."

"You are a lot like her," Maura agreed. "Or rather, she is a lot like you, but I can tell the difference between you two. You won't lose yourself."

"You can do that?"

"Of course I can," Maura argued.

"Well, you must share your secret," Abigail said, managing a smile. "Transference, you called it?"

Maura finally turned to face Abigail. Thankfully, the woman was keeping her distance, but she might as well have been standing next to her. Abigail Rizzoli's presence seemed to be filling the room and it was suffocating. There was no ignoring her or the similarities between the two personalities.

Maura pushed a self-depreciating laugh through her lips. "I guess I can see your point. But nothing can happen. We have to ignore whatever _this_ is because you're right. You look like Jane and I miss her, but you are not her."

Abigail shrugged. "We're not doing anything."

"Aren't we?" Maura sighed deeply. She crossed her arms across her chest. Curiously, she asked, "Do I really look like her?"

"It's not so much your appearance," Abigail replied, her gaze softening. "I think mostly, the two of you share similar mannerisms. Also, you both dress impeccably well."

Maura could feel herself blushing and hated herself for it.

"This is going to sound strange, but I feel a strong need to be near you, to protect you," Abigail said quietly. "It's gnawing at me, this feeling. If something happens to you, I would be devastated."

There was a small spark of hope in Maura just then. It made her feel as if Jane was alive. As if Jane was still trying to protect her, even if there was some 80 years separating them. Maura questioned aloud, "When did you start to feel this way?"

"From the moment I opened my eyes," Abigail said sadly, an omission that surprised even herself. Quickly, she said. "Maura, I'm afraid I wasn't supposed to survive this. Everything you have shown me, tells me I'm dead. Something at the river changed all of that. We have to go back."

"So, what are you suggesting? I take you back there to die?" Maura said, nearly choking on the emotion building in the back of her throat. She didn't want to lose Abigail any more than Abigail wanted to lose her. "I won't help you kill yourself."

_I won't help you kill the last piece of Jane I have left. _

"I don't know how this works or what is to happen next," Abigail whispered harshly. She cleared her throat and continued more strongly, "Everything you told me about my death? I was supposed to have died the day I went in search of that evidence. For some reason, I didn't."

"Wait. Evidence?" Maura wiped at her eyes, almost embarrassed by the brief emotional state she found herself in. She repeated, "What evidence? Why were you at the Charles?"

Abigail appeared to be about to answer, but she paused. After a long moment, she said quietly, "Wait."

"No, I won't wait . . .," Maura began to protest, but a hand clamped her mouth to silence her. Abby was now pressed in real close. Maura could swear she could hear both their heartbeats thundering in the sudden quiet.

"I guess I meant, shut up," Abigail whispered. "Listen."

Maura's eyes strayed to the front door, following the sound of the doorknob jiggling. Someone was trying to break in! Maura could almost hear Jane mutter 'Really?' in her head, a shared disbelief that anything else could possibly go wrong. Abigail reached behind Maura to grab a lone frying pan off the stove. She then backed away slowly and instructed with the utmost seriousness, "Stay here."

Maura just nodded, not one to really involve herself in any kind of fight. She was somewhat useless in that arena anyway, always eager to let Jane handle anything that dissolved into violence too quickly. Nevertheless, she reached into the sink to find a cutting knife and thought that maybe she should try to arm herself, just in case.

Abigail inched over to the front door, watching the handle finally give way. She got into position just in time, the door opened slowly and she used the door as her shield, lifting the frying pan up into a swinging position. As soon as she saw a mop of reddish brown hair peak around the door, she swung down with the frying pan right on top of the intruder's head. The man went down instantly, hitting the floor with a thud.

Abigail quickly knelt down to roll the man over, not recognizing him at all but judging by the gasp she heard from Maura, it was clear the doctor had met this man before.

"That's Mr. Brandt!" Maura exclaimed, discarding her knife on the counter and rushing over.

At the sound of his name, the man grunted but did not move.

"Well, let's get him inside before the neighbors see," Abigail said. Maura helped drag the poor man inside completely, then shut the door. "Who is Mr. Brandt?"

"He followed us to the hospital after the accident," Maura explained worriedly. "He said he could help me with your memory problem, but at the time, I dismissed him. He just sounded like another hungry reporter looking to make a story for himself."

"He was looking for a story?" Abigail said aloud, then glanced down at the man lying limp on the floor. "We'll give him a story, all right."


	12. Chapter 11

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks for your patience between updates. And of course thanks for the reviews, the follows, the favs. Keeps me going.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Oscar was back with a box of old newspapers and he was already rambling, "This house has been in our family since The Redcoats were marching around here! So much history I could share with you, Jane. With you both."

**11**

**Oscar Dye noted how close the two women stood next to one another. **It seemed no matter of magic or time would put any distance between the two. And while he noticed Abby's posture would be a bit different from the woman standing before him now, he could see how difficult it would be to distinguish between the two personalities at first glance. He took in the fedora, the blazer, the pants. All of it was Abby, but the bewildered look in her eyes was not.

To think, he was going to experience this strange phenomenon first hand (and would feel a little less crazy to boot).

"What are you doing here?" Joanna asked again.

"I followed you. Figured I could see the dead girl for myself," Oscar shrugged. He coughed roughly, sounding like a man who spent many years smoking but the reality was his health was failing. He knew it, just wasn't sure what to do about it. He ran a hand through graying hair, though it did nothing to calm the disheveled look. He continued, "Bobby comes into the paper talking about Abby's death and what he saw and he just didn't sound convincing enough for me. And don't worry now, I got copy ready to print for the morning. I just figured if she were still breathing, she would be with you."

"I still need her," Joanna argued, almost defensively.

Jane involuntarily glanced at the other woman with curiosity. There was so much emotion in that statement. Too much given that she was not the person Joanna claimed to need. Jane suddenly felt a heavy weight on her shoulders, as if a responsibility she didn't know about had been thrust into her arms without preamble. In fact, she felt obligated to thread her hand into Joanna's. She squeezed tightly and swore, "I'm not going anywhere."

The words didn't sound like Jane's own, but they were at the same time. Joanna was confused by their joined hands at first, but couldn't deny the comfort the gesture provided. In fact, her grasp only grew stronger, more fraught with tension.

Oscar just shrugged, pretending not to notice their little exchange. At least these two had each other, he mused to himself. If everything he had been told was true, their predecessors hadn't been quite as lucky. So he said, "I get it, you know. It'll be easier to do what you gotta do dead. Get those hungry wolves working for Cirrillo off your case, for a lil while at least. Honestly, not trying to judge."

"Hey, I'm sorry, but you mentioned me feeling whole again," Jane cut in, glancing at Joanna apologetically and releasing her hand. "I mean, I get it. Killer on the loose, but what did you mean by that?"

Oscar chuckled. "You're not the only one the Charles has swallowed up and spit back out as someone else. I've seen this before."

For the first time since this all began, Jane began to feel as if she was finally getting somewhere.

Joanna, on the other hand, just groaned. "Okay. You're _all_ certifiable!"

For Jane, that was enough. She turned to Joanna defiantly and said, "Hey, I think it's time you come to terms with this. It was _you_ that wrapped me up this morning and _you_ stitched up the cut. I was still bleeding, okay? Look at me now, look at my scar. Jo, please. You can't _not_ see this anymore."

The stubborn side of Joanna was bringing about the pout currently on her face, but the insanely irritated fire in Jane's eyes was overwhelming Slowly, reluctantly, she placed a hand on the hem of Jane's shirt. With one glance up to meet Jane's eyes for permission, she then lifted the shirt up just enough to view the scarring one more time. It was the same as before, the surgical line both healed and faint. A sense of wonderment, then horror washed over her and as her fingers began to tremble, she lost hold of the shirt.

"What is happening?" Joanna whispered.

Oscar placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Maybe we can find out together."

The old man led them to his car, which Jane recognized to be a very early model of a Chevy Independence. Well, to Jane it was an early model. For Oscar and Joanna, it was probably the best new thing going and it was shiny and well kept too. The paint was bright red, the tires ridiculously big. She had this urge to grab her cell phone, to call her partner, Barry Frost and she imagined them fangirling together over this piece of art.

But of course, she knew she could not.

The two women pressed into the back seat, which sent Jane's claustrophobia into overdrive. Not to say she actually suffered from such a fear, but suddenly all she could think was, 'how could anyone survive in this heap of metal should it crash?' It seemed they barely had room to breathe and moreover, she couldn't quite find the seat belt. Maybe it didn't have one.

The car roared to life quite literally and they took off. Oscar stayed silent, which irked Jane a bit. It seemed he would wait until they arrived at their destination before he would elaborate on his knowledge of her ordeal. But it did give her the opportunity to take in her city or rather, what her city had been.

Telephone poles stretched along the streets, their trunks looming over the patrons of the city as symbols of technological progress. For whatever reason, the thick wires seemed so much more perceptible now than they would have in her time. And they whizzed by other landmarks, like The Ritz Theater, round light bulbs illuminating the title of the latest film to hit Hollywood. It was glitzy and grand in its own way. So much of the city was full of life and Jane was seeing it in full color. The black and white historian photos from her textbooks in high school failed to capture the vibrancy of the people and the time.

She shifted in her seat some, which caused her fingers to accidently brush against Joanna's. She was going to mumble an apology, but Joanna fiercely grabbed hold of her hand, squeezing so tightly and with so much need, Jane felt as if the other woman's anguish was being transferred to her. It was painful.

"Jo," Jane whispered, though she wasn't sure why she was.

"Shut up," Joanna ordered. With sharp eyes, hinted with a shade of grief. "Just . . . not a word."

"What's wrong?" Jane pressed.

"Everything," Joanna hissed, whipping her head around to face Jane and nearly knocking noses with her. Unconsciously, she leaned until her forehead rested against Jane's. She closed her eyes and willed herself to keep her tears at bay while she said, "I just need you to be you."

Something was happening and while Jane was just barely registering that they had an audience of a very old man driving them around town, she was finding that none of that mattered. All that mattered was that Joanna was safe with her and that they were in this together. And she knew she shouldn't feel that way, because this wasn't her time and Joanna wasn't really her friend or her partner or anything that should make her feel this way!

They were two women, brought together over an expanse of time and space and Jane could think of only one other person she had ever felt this close to.

Maura.

It was the reminder of Maura, a splash of cold water to the face. Jane pulled away, blinked her eyes a few times, felt the world refocus. She could see Joanna blinking too, clearing up the haze that had settled over them.

The car lurched to a stop and Oscar looked over his shoulder with a soft smile. Jane could see he was trying to hide his sympathy, trying to pretend he couldn't hear the ache in Joanna's words. He announced, "We're here."

'Here' had somehow melded the city into countryside. A long drive led them up to a grand home of red brick and dark shutters. At the door, Oscar produced some keys and it became obvious that this was his house. He led them inside and encouraged that they make themselves comfortable while he went in search of what he needed.

Jane was keeping a healthy distance between herself and Joanna. To her comfort, she found that Joanna was doing the same. The cramped space in the car had done something, had awakened something that shouldn't have been. Jane knew who she was, she knew what she felt was right. But for a few brief moments, she thought that all she needed was Jo. That Jo was hers to protect and to care for. She knew that those feelings could not be her own.

Oscar was back with a box of old newspapers and he was already rambling, "This house has been in our family since The Redcoats were marching around here! So much history I could share with you, Jane. With you both."

He dropped the box on a table in a nearby room. It was story time.

**August 1887 Boston**

Oscar Dye was simply a young man, aspiring to be a great writer. It was all he had ever wanted for as long as he could remember. But what was he doing now? Obituary runs. His genius, his education reduced to this.

The deceased was Mary Easton. The coroner was finishing his reports, readying the final details and while Oscar waited, he noticed the sullen expression of a young man staring out a nearby window vacantly. Slowly and with great curiosity, Oscar found himself gravitated toward him.

"Sir? Need help?"

"That woman. She is not Mary, but no one believes me," the young man says quietly. "They called me in to identify her and she . . . I can't explain it sir, but it's not her."

The young man's sadness was palpable. Oscar felt the devastation in his own bones.

"Forgive me if I'm crass, Sir, but she had been suspected to be in that river for a long time. Her features were likely disfigured due to such conditions."

"No! I _did_ identify her as Mary. She looks like Mary, but I know she's not."

The young man turned around, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue and grief.

"Then why tell the coroner it was her?"

"And have me look foolish in front of all her other acquaintances who say that it is?"

Oscar was bewildered. They awkwardly stood next to each other and Oscar knew he should probably leave this crazy to himself, but he couldn't go. Instead he held out his hand, "My name is Oscar Dye. I work for the paper. I just wanted to put in the proper information for the obituary."

"Bless you," the man said, though with very little sincerity. He stepped closer to Oscar, almost with a wild look in his eyes. "Start by telling everyone that the woman in there is not Mary. That her brother, her only family knows Mary and that it's not her. It just . . ."

Oscar could feel for the man. After weeks of wondering and searching, he was told that his sister was dead. That they found her body (a floater in the Charles River) and that she was dead. He just couldn't accept the facts, that was all.

"I'd be more than happy to find justice if there was a mistake, but unless you have. . ."

"Just before she disappeared, she was different," he begins, his voice soft and far off. Oscar is immediately stilled, not just by the tone but by the chill in the air. "We had been out by the river that day, intent on getting in a swim if we could help it. It's always been just us, you see. We looked out for each other. We were out there and something strange happened.

The water was calm and Mary dived. She liked to scare me, you see. After a few frightfully long seconds, I realized she wasn't funning. She was drowning. So I went under and I searched. I couldn't find her. She was gone! I bobbed up one last time and saw her. I swam to the bank and there she was . . . at least I thought it was Mary."

Oscar was at rapt attention. "You thought?"

"She looked at me, as if she didn't know me. I surmised that she bumped her head, but after a trip to a doctor, she checked out fine physically. Mentally, she was beginning to lose touch. She said she was not Mary. She was Sue Easton."

"Easton? Any relation?" Oscar wanted desperately to scribble this all down, but being the great obituary writer that he was, he didn't bring pen or paper. The details were usually so minute; he just put them to memory.

"That was the funny thing, Oscar. You see, we did have a Sue in the family, but she was long dead. A grandmother that died before Mary had learned to crawl. I tried to convince Mary she was just imagining this. That the Sue we were told of had a missing finger on her right hand. Lost it in a farming accident as a young woman. For days I showed her that all her fingers were still there.

Until about a day before she disappeared. She came to me, wild and excited. She yelled, 'see! I told you, John!' She held up her right hand. A finger was missing."

"No!" Oscar gasped. "She cut off her finger? She cut off her finger to prove she was Sue?"

"But she didn't! I thought she had, but when I grabbed her hands and looked closer, I could see that the injury had long since healed over. As if the injury had happened many years ago. As if she really was Sue!

I don't know why I didn't think to check the river. It was where everything went wrong. She must've tried to go back, knowing that she didn't belong here. That she was in the wrong place, the wrong time."

Oscar managed to convince his editor to run the story, but only to go as far as to say that a family member was convinced that the body they were burying was not Mary Easton. Oscar was allowed to note that the body was missing a finger, but was forced to acknowledge that four other persons had identified the body as Mary and that for the foreseeable future; her death was noted as an accidental drowning.

The woman died with the legacy of being a crazy. An even crazier brother left behind spending the rest of his life claiming his sister, Mary, was still out there somewhere.

* * *

Oscar had never come across another case like that, not until now. He was pushing sixty-three. He had been writing stories for a long time, but nothing like the obituary for Mary Easton.

They were drinking tea and eating hard shortbread cookies at his estate. Oscar clearly had money, but didn't seem to mind his somewhat lowly journalism profession. His father had wanted Oscar to become a doctor.

"He's dead now," Oscar said between bites, crumbs resting in his beard. His manners had disappeared with his youth, apparently.

"John Easton?" Jane asked for clarification. Oscar liked to talk and had mentioned several people in the last few minutes. He could've been referring to anyone's death.

"Yes. Shame that no one believed him," Oscar said nonchalantly. "I can't say that I believed him either, but the anguish on the man's face was so raw. I felt I was doing him some good by at least publishing what he believed to be the truth. I felt I was helping him."

Jane sensed a calm settling over Oscar. "You were drawn to him."

Oscar nodded. "I was. For some reason, I couldn't seem to convince myself that the man was completely screwy. A small part of me hoped that Mary was still alive too."

"Now what do you think?" Jane pried.

Oscar smiled. "I think that I made a grave mistake not keeping in touch with Mr. Easton. I shouldn't have doubted him."

"And you saw the body?" Joanna asked, having said very little during the retelling of John and Mary's story. It was an important question. Jane's wound had miraculously healed itself. According to Oscar's story, Mary had magically lost a finger.

Oscar nodded again, managing to wipe his mouth with a napkin before speaking this time. "Yes, I did. She was missing a finger. The mortician did the best he could, cleaning her up and everything for the viewing. She had been found floating, the air in her body replaced with water. She was bloated some, but it was clear that the injury to her hand was not a fresh cut. Not something she lost in the river."

"Like my scar," Jane murmured softly, unconsciously placing her hand over her stomach. "I did this a year ago."

"The reporter in me would love the chance to really talk with you, Jane," Oscar said hopefully.

Jane laughed darkly. "If I don't figure out how to correct this, I promise you one hell of an interview."

The next few moments found them drinking their tea. Jane had never once thought what it must've been like for Bostonians before her time. Why would she? Everything seemed quieter and lovelier at first, but people still killed people. People still suffered, they still experienced loss. Why would history be any different from her present?

There were still bright spots, like Abigail and Joanna. Two women who just wanted to make things right for those they cared about. She wondered briefly if she could live in this time for the rest of her life.

Of course, the answer was no. She couldn't do it. She didn't want it. She wanted to get back to her home, to her Boston. Back to her family and Maura.

"I better clean this up," Oscar said, gathering the dishes. "And I'll prepare a place to sleep. It's getting late. No sense in going back to that river in the dark."

The two women were left at the table, silence falling over them. Thoughts bounced around in their heads. Questions upon questions. Joanna spoke, as if reading Jane's mind. Answering some of her questions without them being asked aloud.

"Jimmy tried to tell me about Mr. Doyle," Joanna said, not looking anywhere particular. "I didn't want to listen to him. We had already lost our mother. If what he was saying was true, we would be without a father as well."

"What do you think happened to him?" Jane asked.

Joanna kept her gaze ahead. "I think Cirrillo hired an old hand of ours, Torin. Torin always felt underappreciated working with us. Mr. Doyle wasn't one to mark targets frivolously and Torin had an insatiable taste for blood. Cirrillo probably promised him a fortune to switch sides, to kill for him."

"Do you really believe Mr. Doyle has no blood on his hands?" Jane questioned.

Joanna chuckled darkly. "I said he wasn't one to mark anyone, but as a last resort? I know he did. I'm sure he filled many of his foes with daylight himself."

The young woman sniffled just then. It was what Jane couldn't see with Joanna so dutifully avoiding her gaze, using her long red hair to shield her face. She couldn't see the tears.

Now the subtle shaking of Joanna's shoulders made clear that she was crying, maybe willing herself to stop and pull it together. Her voice was cracking as she spoke, "Oh, Jane. I miss him. And now I have to miss her too."

_Abby._

Jane looked at the ground. "I'm sorry. I guess you've been having to repeat yourself, tell the same stories. Even the stories that are painful."

"No. Stop, please," Joanna begged, finally facing Jane with watery eyes. "You should be happy now, you know. I finally believe you. I know you could not be my Abby."

"So, my miraculous stab wound recovery wasn't enough proof?" Jane cracked. She really couldn't help herself. Humor was the only defense mechanism she had for circumstances like these. Well, not that she had ever been in a circumstance quite like this before. She was relieved when Joanna stifled a chuckle and thought that maybe they were on their way to being friends. "What do you want to do now?"

"Abby and I had tried to find some financial records in my father's office," Joanna explained, carefully dabbing her eyes in a true effort to strengthen up. "We thought that if Cirrillo and my father were actually in this together, the proof would be there. It was my suggestion to look, but only to humor Abby's suspicions. I had my doubts. I just didn't want them to be true. I had hoped by not finding anything incriminating, it would ease my worries."

"It didn't," Jane said softly.

Joanna smiled sadly. "No, it didn't. Oscar came to us shortly after that set back. A letter had been delivered to him, postdated after Jimmy's murder. I guess my brother wanted a backup plan. "

"It was hidden out there, right? Abby went out there to find it," Jane concluded aloud. "Maybe all of this isn't random. I was at the river looking for a murderer before all this happened. Did Oscar ever find out what killed Sue Easton?"

Joanna furrowed her brow. "What does that man's old story have to do with this now?"

"Probably everything," Jane reasoned. "Or maybe nothing. I just, maybe if we find out what happened to Sue, we can figure out a way to fix this. I think Abigail Rizzoli needs to be here for this. I think she's the one that needs to help you through this, not me."

"But what if _this_ is it?" Joanna said quietly. "What will happen if you switch back? Is that even possible? If we fix this, then she will really be dead."

"Or maybe this is what was supposed to happen all along and this keeps her alive," Jane argued gently. "Either way, we don't know. I just know I can't let this go on. I don't belong here."

"Trying to fix this could kill you too," Joanna said firmly. "Is that what you want?"

Jane gave a self-depreciating laugh. "What I want is to go home, wherever home may end up being."

Jane felt a hand slip in to hers, grasping tightly.

Joanna exhaled slowly, steadily. "I guess the answers we both seek are at the river. Let's rest tonight. Have Oscar tell us some bedtime stories, then we will go there tomorrow. Together."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you've got a soft spot for me too," Jane chided, with a raise of an eyebrow.

"I guess it's just something about you Rizzolis," Joanna replied cheekily. "Maddening, yet charming."

Jane's smile grew broader then. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

Joanna nodded her agreement. "It's the best you'll get out of me." She stood up bringing Jane with her since their hands were stilled clasped in what seemed to be for an unspoken need for comfort. "Let's go. I'm sure Oscar has a hope chest we can raid."

Jane's face twisted some, in much the same way it would whenever Maura began spouting off words she didn't really know or understand.

"What the hell is a hope chest?"


	13. Chapter 12

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Thanks for your patience between updates. And of course thanks for the reviews, the follows, the favs. Keeps me going.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: All he wanted was to be held like this for a little while longer. He suspected this was a dream, of course. What else could it be? Sue and Mary were gone, claimed by the river that was embracing him now.

**12**

**August 1887 Boston**

**John Easton had found an unexpected friend in Oscar Dye. ** He had to use the term loosely, of course. The two men had only spoken once at the coroner's office and neither man made much effort to keep in touch. Mostly, John kept up with the young Dye by reading the paper and his articles. The topics were mundane and simple. Stories included local events or charities. Birthdays. Deaths.

John had cut out and kept the obituary written for his sister. It was a nice write up, accompanied with a nice picture. It was a favorite of John's, one he offered to Oscar as a way to thank him for his kindness and mercy. The photo was black and white, of course, but John remembered the vibrancy of the dress she wore and it always made him smile.

Mary was attending some function, a long navy blue outfit, which seemed to wrap around her legs several times. Red fabric highlighted the seams and the many skirts that billowed over one another. It was one of her more beautiful photographs, even if she wasn't smiling in it.

With the obituary, John also kept the tiny article questioning the identity of the river ravaged body that was identified as Mary Easton. It was that little story that gave him hope. His Mary was still out there somewhere.

Sometimes, John walked along the Charles, as he was doing today. Not just to remember his sister, but to also remember his grandmother. Sue would bring them to the river for a swim and to bathe quite often. Very few families did that anymore so it was nice to have this piece of Boston, to have the serenity and the separation from industrial progress. Mary was too young to swim, naturally, but John had faint memories of learning to tread water and splashing and laughing.

They were faint memories of a time when he was so much happier.

He slowly removed his shoes and socks. He rolled up his pants and then pulled up on his tucked shirt and vest. At first, he just walked in the shallow water. Felt the river sludge squeeze between his toes. Then he decided he would much rather float. So with a complete disregard for his clothes, he swam out a little further and then let go.

His arms bobbed and his legs slowly rose up and he drifted with the calm river, the sun's rays beating through the tree limbs and warming his face. He closed his eyes and felt so strangely peaceful.

He was small again.

"John?"

He smiled and answered, "Mary. So good to hear from you."

"John. You're just a boy!" Mary said above him.

John opened his eyes and there she was. It was Sue, hair so grey and eyes so brown. He was being cradled in her arms and he never felt so warm, so safe. He whispered whimsically, "I thought I lost you, Mary."

"I don't know how this has happened, John, but I will find a way back to you," Mary or Sue, continued to speak. John wasn't really sure who was talking to him anymore. All he wanted was to be held like this for a little while longer. He suspected this was a dream, of course. What else could it be? Sue and Mary were gone, claimed by the river that was embracing him now. He sighed.

"_John!" _

"Mary!" he shouted back, eyes popping open again. He thrashed in the water, because suddenly the current was quite vigorous. What in heaven was going on? He then heard a gunshot, which was all the more alarming and unexpected. After a moment of flaying, he found a balance between fighting the river and staying afloat and searched desperately for the source of the sound. Then he saw them.

Their images were blurry, but oh so active and alive! A man and a woman were wrestling, sliding down the muddy bank toward the water. Fear gripped his heart as he watched them fall in. He whispered in terror, "Oh Lord."

Mercifully, the woman broke the surface of the water first, raven hair so long and heavy, he thought it might be weighing her down. The man came up next. He looked panicked and afraid. He was grasping for the woman.

John wanted to help, but the current was too strong. He fought but any progress he made was instantly washed away. When did the Charles get so violent? Why was the sun suddenly so bright? Helplessly, he watched the woman go under again, the man followed. He was holding onto to her, John could see that now. He was going to drown them both!

"Jane!"

John followed the sound of that panicked voice back to the river bank. A petite blond was standing a few yards back wearing impossible shoes, the skirt of her dress entirely too short and she was fumbling with a bag. She had a blazer draped around her shoulders, her striking expression of fear mirrored his own.

"Jane!" the blond yelled again.

"Jane," he said aloud, but to no one but himself. He knew what was happening. John understood now. The river was claiming another loved one, just as it had taken two of his own. He wanted to help, he needed to help them! How could he let them suffer what he had gone through? He pushed and he splashed and he saw the raven haired woman disappear again and he now had no choice.

It was time to dive.

So John let himself go under and the difference was immediate. While he felt as if he was being pushed around, it wasn't quite as violent. He had more control. It was pitch below the surface and if not for the white of the woman's blouse, he might not have found her thrashing and trying to stay alive. He fought and he pushed forward and all the while thought to himself, _Get to her, John. Save her, John. _

The fighting paid off. Just when he thought his lungs were going to burst, he managed to wrap his arms around her torso and pushed upward with his legs. That was when a bright flash of light hit him. It surged through him and perhaps the body of the woman too and then he opened his eyes.

The waters were calm again, suddenly. So peaceful.

His heart was beating furiously, however. It was as if he'd just swam the length of the river at full speed, but the quieted waters belied any such efforts . Did he just dream all of that? Was that really all it was, a dream? The sun shined on his face, warming it. He was floating on the river once more, as if everything he just did had never happened.

At once, he swam back to the river bank and rushed up the slight hill to scan the area but he saw no one. The petite woman screaming for Jane was gone. Jane (he presumed belonged to the long raven hair) was gone. The man that had been weighing Jane down was gone.

Worst of all, Mary was gone again. He was all alone.

John clutched at his chest, felt his rapidly beating heart still thumping inside. He couldn't say if he was reacting to a frightful daydream or if he really just battled the Charles to save a woman he didn't even know.

Slowly, he gathered up his shoes and other articles. He glanced back at the Charles River with beleaguered eyes. "What magic is this?"

He could never return to this Devil ridden place, that he knew for sure now. That river was possessed. That river brought nothing but misery and it did nothing but took lives. It was simply evil.

_Oh, Jane,_ he thought to himself. That poor woman. He couldn't save her, not really.

_May the Lord hold you in the palm of his hand._

**Present Day Boston**

**Richard Brandt groaned aloud, the world rushing back in. **His head was throbbing and even the low lighting in the apartment was giving him issues. Immediately he thought to himself that he was in trouble. It wasn't really the fact that he had miscalculated which home the two women would hole themselves up in for the night. He assumed that Maura would take them back to her house (which is where Jane Rizzoli usually retreated most days), but as his vision began to focus, he could see two figures looming ahead of him. They were here. And yes, that was bad, but there were worse things.

Worse things like the man that called from time to time to check in on Maura Isles. Being caught here, he was losing precious time. Too many hours of silence could be really, really bad for Richard.

He certainly didn't want that, so maybe it was time to talk. It was time to talk fast.

"Hello, girls," Richard said, managing a lopsided grin, because attempting anything else might have been more comical. His head hurt too much to attempt a maniacal smirk. Though, he sure felt good enough to joke. With a flourish, he finished his greeting, "Funny running into you here!"

"The time for bumping gums is over, Mr. Brandt," Abigail warned.

Richard snorted, "Bumping gums. That's rich."

"I don't like strangers," Abigail sneered this time.

"Ah, well, correct me if I'm wrong," Richard said. "But everyone here is a stranger to you, right Abigail?"

He tried moving his arms, but only now did the realization that he was handcuffed hit him. He was sitting in one of the dining chairs, arms looped behind him. They really weren't taking any chances with him, were they?

"Actually, I think I've made a good friend in Maura," Abigail said with a smile. She then held up Richard's cell phone, waving it in front of him. He froze up at the sight of it. No, he needed that. Most of all, he needed to be the one that answered it should it ring. Abigail seemed to smile wider at his discomfort. "She's shown me a few things about cell phones. We haven't gone through yours yet, but it does seem to lack a password. I could easily browse through the contacts, if you don't want to chat."

"You don't fight fair," Richard replied somewhat bitterly. "You're not Jane, but I definitely see the family resemblance."

"For the record, I didn't want to tie you up," Maura finally cut in. She walked over to Richard and stood next to him. "But you're right, this is not Jane Rizzoli. So please, just tell us why you're here."

"You don't have to scroll through the contacts," Richard pleaded. "One of them is my editor, Brad. I was going to see if I could find more solid resources, ok? I figured overachieving Jane was dutiful enough to research her long lost and long dead relative. I thought she might have something here. I didn't anticipate you two camping out here tonight."

"Why is it that reporters don't just knock?" Abigail said, rolling her eyes.

"No one wants to talk to us, usually," Richard replied smartly. "Listen, untie me. I won't be any trouble. I'll leave."

"Actually, no, we can't just let you leave," Maura said regretfully. "You told me you could help me, help Jane. We need to know how."

Richard almost seemed to coo, casting his gaze onto Abigail once more. "Are you feeling displaced, Mrs. Rizzoli? I noticed you're standing quite stiffly. Are you hurt?"

"It seems you know the answer to that question already," Abigail snarled, now advancing on the chair. "Tell me what you know!" Maura immediately blocked her path enough to keep her from doing something she might regret. Maura even grasped her balled up fist, pleaded silently with her eyes to be calm.

"Wow." Richard said, clearly amused by Maura's ability to sway Abigail. He even began to chuckle. "I can't believe this, you know? I thought the old woman was just blowing smoke up my ass."

"What the hell does that mean?" Abigail said rigidly. Her tensing only forced Maura to grasp onto her tighter.

"It _means_ that Mary Easton is _more_ than just legend," Richard said, allowing his chuckles to subside. "She's _real_ and she was right."

Maura and Abigail now studied the bemused Richard Brandt. He was chuckling to himself again and that had Maura subconsciously feel bashful about her immediate reaction to subdue Abigail in much the same way she would calm Jane. She reluctantly put some space between her and Abigail, but they didn't break eye contact.

They now had a new mystery to unravel.

Who was Mary Easton? And what did she mean to Richard? More importantly, what would it mean for them?


	14. Chapter 13

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: As always, thanks for the follows, favs, reviews. Makes me feel a little less crazy for writing something like this.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: He knew that Abigail would do everything to keep her safe, to rid their city of these mobster mongrels. But could he have predicted that she would love Abigail for her sacrifice? Could he have known that this lawyer would love her in return?

**13**

"**No, Jo. It can't be you," Abigail insisted vehemently. ** She had pulled Joanna to a nearby booth, the soft piano floated above them, gave their dark conversation a little light. "Jimmy died for this. You don't have to."

"My family, my fight, Abby," Joanna argued back. "You have done too much already. The case is over without these cooked books. You said yourself that the prosecutor's case will be over in a week or so. That all the testimony you had left gave very little leverage to your case. What will happen when you run out of witnesses to depose?"

Abigail knew the answer and she hated that Joanna knew the answer too. Somberly, she said, "The case will be closed. We will have to confess that without our star witness' testimony coupled with our other meager evidence, Cirrillo will get a slap on the hand at best. He will be free by Christmas."

"Then let me do this," Joanna said.

Abigail refused again. "No, Cirrillo will have goons looking for someone like you, a grieving sister out for revenge. They won't suspect the lady lawyer snooping around. You need to stay in town, give the illusion that no one is after their stash. They gotta think that everything is Jake."

Abigail may have been the 'lady lawyer', but Joanna knew that this title had always given her friend a false sense of security. That simply being the woman gave her some invisible cloak, an ability to fly under the noses of their enemies. In most cases, that would be the truth. Joanna doubted that it was the case this time.

"What if you are followed? You can't honestly believe they don't watch you too. Always forcing your way onto Bobby's crime scenes. Coming here, to my father's establishment for the occasional drink. Surely they've seen us speak."

"You're my client's sister. Not so unusual."

"You are infuriating," Joanna countered. "And you are no match for them. If Torin really is Jimmy's killer, you don't stand a chance."

An easy smile crossed Abigail's lips. "And you do? My husband is a good teacher, Jo. I can take care of myself."

"It's your husband that worries me," Joanna stated gravely, not liking Abigail's smirk. "Don't treat this like some infantile game."

"Bobby wouldn't hurt us," Abigail insisted, her tone laced with warning. "And if I thought this were a game, I wouldn't be telling you to stay here." Abigail leaned forward now, eyes narrowing into serious slits and her lips forming a thin line of stubbornness. "You are always telling me that women can go where men cannot. That Jimmy wouldn't have sought me out in the first place if he didn't believe that were true. You may not like it now, but you still believe it. The prosecutor's office is scared. Those men that I work with? They wouldn't dream of schlepping down by the river to look for these books. Hell, they might be afraid that their names are in them! I don't have to fear that. I need you to trust me. This is the best way. The only way. . ."

_. . .That protects you._

Joanna didn't need Abigail to finish her thought. She knew. She knew that Abigail would do anything to protect her and somehow Jimmy knew that Abigail was a genuinely good person. He knew that Abigail would do everything to keep her safe, to rid their city of these mobster mongrels. But could he have predicted that she would love Abigail for her sacrifice? Could he have known that this lawyer would love her in return?

"I promised your brother," Abigail said simply. The lawyer enveloped Joanna's hands into her own. She whispered, "I don't break promises."

"Abby," Joanna said reverently, her eyes falling shut as her emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Why did this feel like goodbye? She felt a chaste kiss on her knuckles that immediately popped her eyes back open. But the attorney had already risen from the booth and was going out the door.

It felt like goodbye because it was.

* * *

**Joanna Hastens followed Oscar up the stairs and down the hallway toward the rear of the house. **It seemed the night Abigail Rizzoli left her to pursue their salvation was eons ago and not merely the night before. In fact, she could argue that the conversation didn't even happen. That if she forgot everything for a moment, she could believe that Abigail was still here, walking by her side. Joanna glanced to her right, the woman next to her barely paying attention to where they were going, marveling at the details of this old house.

Her name was Jane. And Joanna knew this deep down and for those brief moments that she forgot, the reality swept back in just as forcefully. Abigail kissed her hand. Abigail said goodbye.

Oscar Dye had four bedrooms on the upper levels that had been vacant for quite some time. At one point they had housed all four Dye brothers, the master suite was home to his parents. The parents were long since buried and only one of Oscar's brothers was still living. At least Oscar thought so. Their father, Mr. Dye (God rest his spirit) had left everything to Oscar, the only brother to have gone to school and earn a degree in English. The younger Dye brother obviously felt dejected about the whole thing and therefore had disappeared.

Oscar had been living alone for the last 15 years or so.

"Nice big bed," he showed them proudly. The master suite was grand with no shortage of crown molding along the ceiling nor was there a space not covered with some plush rug. Jane found it curious that the name Dye hadn't lasted long enough to reach her ears. Names like Fairfield were legends; they were old money that had been atop Boston's richest and finest for decades. Clearly the Dye family, at least in this era, had money. What happened?

While Oscar spoke, it occurred to Jane that he, not once, had mentioned any children of his own. Maybe the Dye family fortune ended with Oscar.

The tour of the house accompanied with Dye Family history seemed to be over and it appeared that Oscar had no other plans than to dump them here for the night. Jane glanced at Joanna, then back to the enormous bed. Were they expected to share it? Even the normally confident redhead was looking a bit weary at the unspoken suggestion.

Oscar was completely oblivious to their discomfort and continued to speak, "I've got some fresh linen here. I'm sorry for my lack of preparedness. I never have guests, you understand."

Joanna politely smiled. "Oscar, everything is fine. You have been incredibly gracious."

"Got some nice dresses too, if you fancy a change," he said eagerly. He shuffled over to a wardrobe and pulled on the doors. "You look about my mother's size, Jane. Joanna, I'm afraid these may be a bit big for you."

"We'll be fine with what we have, but perhaps some nightgowns?" Joanna said. Jane could tell this errand was simply meant to allow them a little space, to give Oscar an excuse to leave the room.

"Oh, of course. I should have something in the next room," Oscar nodded, before scampering out and leaving them alone. Once he was gone, Jane was quick to breathe a sigh of relief for the reprieve.

"Do we have to stay here?" Jane asked, almost with a whine in her voice. "That hole of an apartment is starting to look better than this."

Joanna playfully smacked her shoulder. "Stop now! Oscar is a little excitable at times, but as much as I'd hate to admit it, we need him. He's the only other one in this backwards town who's talking as crazy as you."

"Again with the 'crazy'," Jane griped. "I'm not crazy."

Joanna pursed her lips some. "I guess I'm just projecting how crazy I feel unto you."

Jane rubbed her eyes. "Look, I'm sorry. I look like Abigail and you love her, but . . ."

"What? I _love_ Abigail?" Joanna repeated, another comical look of alarm on her features.

Jane laughed mirthfully. "Please, even Oscar thinks something is up between you two. Why would he offer us one bed?"

"Us? You and me?" Joanna laughed now. Stepped toward the other woman and poked her in the chest. "Listen, there is no _us_."

Jane felt as if she just entered the twilight zone, the 'us' ending in somewhat of a hissing sound. Joanna's close proximity was also stirring in her emotions she knew she shouldn't have, but couldn't help. She tried stepping back some, to break this weird spell. Jane said as strongly as she could, "I didn't mean for 'us' to come out like that. I meant. . ."

Joanna cut her off, wouldn't let her finish. "Quite frankly, there is no Abigail and Joanna either, so stop with the insinuations. I care a great deal for her, but to love her hurts too much so I kindly ask you to never speak of it again, are we clear?"

"Joanna, I'm sorry," Jane tried again.

"Are we clear?" Joanna repeated, her voice thick with emotion. She was breathing in deeply, like she had just run a marathon. What was happening to her? Only Abigail had the ability to incense her in this way. This confusion, this trying to keep Jane and Abigail separate was becoming very difficult. Her head was saying one thing while her heart yearned for another.

"Clear," Jane said softly. "I'm sorry." Tentatively, Jane reached out and set her hand on Joanna's shoulder. Joanna shrugged away which only prompted Jane to grasp tighter.

There was an undeniable pull between them. When Jane didn't feel anymore resistance, she gently pulled Joanna into an awkward embrace.

"Don't do this," Joanna whispered, but she didn't pull out of the hug. She only melted into it. She savored it, breathing in the familiar scent of Abby that was laden in the fabric of her blazer. "Please. Let me go."

"I want to, trust me," Jane whispered back. "I don't do hugs."

Joanna laughed into Jane's shoulder. "Then stop." _Stop looking like Abby. My Abby. _

"Here we go," Oscar said, bustling back in with his arms full. He hardly noticed the two women jump back from each other like the other was on fire. He was too busy fiddling with the gowns and sorting them out on the bed. "I know it's a lot, but I wasn't sure what would fit."

"Thank you," Joanna said, going over to stand next to Oscar and inspect the offerings, grateful for the interruption.

"I guess I'm your resident expert now, right?" Oscar asked, at least aware enough to know the two women would need some sort of template to follow before they returned to the Charles River in the morning.

Jane was unable to hide her worry and relief. She wasn't kidding when she expressed her desire to pull away. She wanted to pull away, but didn't know how. Unwittingly, Oscar had saved them both from any more potentially embarrassing exchanges. Jane folded her arms, an attempt to regain control of her emotions and asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us?"

Oscar frowned, now deep in thought. After a long moment, he spoke again, "All I know for sure is that they found Mary Easton's body floating in the Charles some several weeks after she disappeared. It made sense, at least to her brother, that she go back to the place where everything changed. If she switched lives with Grandma Sue, so to speak, while tussling with the river, then perhaps going back would set their lives right again."

"Did John ever tell you how Sue died?" Jane asked, mostly out of curiosity.

Oscar thought again on that one. "Come to think it, he never did. I guess I could try to find out. Go back to the paper in the morning and do a little research. Why? You think knowing will help?"

"I don't know," Jane sighed. "This 'switch' happened with us both having last been at the Charles. Abby was wrestling with her attacker. I was fighting with a suspect. We both ended up in the river. It only makes sense that Sue Easton was there as well. If Sue wasn't at the river at any point in her life, then whatever we thought was happening at the Charles might be completely off base."

Joanna shook her head, began lying out the nightgowns on the bed. "Please, don't hypothesize that we may be wrong on our assumptions on how this crazy mess happened to begin with."

"John did tell me his grandmother lost a finger," Oscar mused aloud. "He had been told it was a farming accident, but what if that wasn't the truth? He was a very young boy when Sue died. In fact, he never seemed clear on the circumstances of her death either."

It seemed that Sue Easton's final moments of life were a mystery. Jane shut her eyes in thought.

"At what point do you think they switched?"

Oscar and Joanna were silent, wondering where Jane would be going with that question.

Jane continued, "You said that John made wild claims about Mary cutting off her own finger. She wanted to prove that she was Sue, right? But then he realized, she didn't cut it off. Now call me crazy, but I inherited Abby's wound when I got here. Then afterward, it disappeared."

"Just as Sue's old injury reappeared," Oscar added excitedly. "So what if Mary had gone through the same transformation? What if she inherited Sue's injuries? What if she lived on as her grandmother up until Sue's death?"

Joanna could only sigh now. "Please, listen to you two! If Mary became Sue while Mary was still a baby, explain how Mary can exist with herself?"

Good question, but it did cause Jane to smile in amusement. "Now who's trying to make sense of things?"

Joanna sneered in a playful manner. "It's bad enough we're talking about switched lives between past and future relatives. Now you want to theorize that the same soul can coexist with itself at the same time! I don't know how much more I can take of this . . . this . . . "

"Nonsense?" Jane suggested.

"Don't patronize me," Joanna scolded, this time seeming offended.

Jane sighed. "Okay, maybe I'm stretching it a bit. I'm tired. We both are."

"Then off to bed, both of you," Oscar said in agreement. "I can wake you in the morning, serve up breakfast and even get you a ride to the river. It would be dreadful to try and walk there."

Before either woman could utter a word, he was gone. The door shut with a deafening finality, leaving Jane and Joanna to ponder if they were really meant to share the bed before them. It seemed that Oscar wasn't really giving them a choice. With a sudden weariness taking over Jane, however, she found she cared less and less about the sleeping arrangements. If she had been keeping track of this time she was currently in, she hadn't really slept that much, if she discounted the times she was knocked out due to pain.

The two women undressed and redressed in the nightgowns in silence. They did this with backs to one another, the silent sound of fabric ruffling and falling to the floor the only disturbance. Joanna was finished first and Jane could hear her pulling back the decadent sheets. Braving a glance over her shoulder, she took in the beautiful daughter of Mr. Doyle and once again found herself comparing Maura and Joanna. Similar skin tone, similar body shape. She briefly wondered just how the Doyle family tree was constructed and where Maura fit into that tree.

Jane ended her scrutiny quickly, just to avoid another awkward explanation to Joanna. She climbed under the covers next to Joanna and laid there in a rigid straight line. She thought of home. She thought of Maura.

She shut her eyes and surprisingly saw the face of Scott Crane. She saw herself fighting the suspect, splashing in the water and then could feel herself sinking all over again. If she went back to the Charles would she have to endure another frightful swim? Would she have to succumb and allow herself to drown in order to go back? If she did that, what if it didn't work? What if she simply drowned instead?

That's how it seemed to work out for Sue Easton. She just drowned.

Jane reopened her eyes.

Joanna's breathing was even, but Jane knew she wasn't asleep. Even though they both needed rest, sleep wasn't going to be easy to come by on this night.

"I'm glad I got to meet you," Jane whispered. It was the best way she could think of, the best way to say goodbye. Tomorrow could be her last day.

"Likewise," Joanna replied, her voice just barely above a whisper.

Tomorrow could be both a beginning and an end.

Or maybe neither? Jane suddenly remembered something and shot up to a sitting position. Joanna quickly followed her and grasped Jane's arm out of instinct, a natural reaction to any time she sensed fear in Abigail. Joanna spoke through the brief sleep fog, "What is it? What?"

"Abigail had a note," Jane said, getting out of the bed quickly and retrieving the jacket she had been wearing earlier. The same one she had been wearing at the Charles River. She searched the pockets and found a brittle piece of paper. "Damn, this is close to ruined."

Quietly, Joanna had crawled out of the bed and joined Jane near the window, to use the moonlight to attempt a reading of the paper. Jane was tensing up with frustration, so Joanna softly laid her hands across the trembling ones. The movement calmed Jane just as it would have calmed Abigail.

_So similar. _

"That's not the whole letter. Just directions. The rest, Jimmy meant only for me to read. There's another page."

Jane looked up. "Just for you?"

"I had planned on sharing this with Abby after she got back from the river," Joanna confessed. "I guess I just forgot about it when I brought you back instead."

_My dearest Joanna,_

_ There is so much I have discovered, masquerading as a runner for Cirrillo. I have the names of several corrupt officials, coppers, judges, you name it. Even if I testify for Mrs. Rizzoli, I'm certain he will serve a minimum sentence and nothing more. These men, men like our father have so many friends and even more enemies. I thought it would be simple to clear this mess out of our city, but the network is so much deeper than I imagined. _

_Speaking of the lawyer, she will have to be the one that takes care of you from now on. I know she cares a great deal for you and she has yet to meet you! Curious, right? All she knows of me is that I'm supposed to be this scared runner for a bad crime boss. That I'm testifying to protect my sister and my father. Her thirst for justice is unwavering and I admire her for it. I hope the work I'm doing will redeem our family for everything we have done._

_The second page is a crude drawing, a map and some directions. I followed Grady to the Charles River. Saw him burying some of Cirrillo's books. I can only assume Cirrillo grew desperate. He needed a place to hide them until the investigation was over. I plan to go back for them, but if I can't, I'll need you to do it, Joanna. Find Mrs. Rizzoli and get those books! It would take a very clever accountant to explain his numbers and many clever lawyers to defend the men in them. It should put Cirrillo away for a long time. _

_Remember, I love you. _

_Jimmy_

"Ideally, Jimmy wanted the books and his testimony together," Joanna sighed, refolding the letter neatly. "Those two things would have crippled Cirrillo."

"Why did Abby go alone?" Jane asked.

"Oscar had delivered the note to me. I told Abby about the books, just not the rest of the letter," Joanna confessed. "She caught me leaving _The Robber _that afternoon. I couldn't lie about my plans, so when I told her what Jimmy had wanted, she was fervent that she go instead. I had never seen her look so scared for me."

Jane swallowed down a think lump of sadness. Abigail went to that river sensing it would be her last, but she didn't waver. She just went. If only Jane could sit down with her mother now, explain just how brave and self-sacrificing Abigail was. She was more than just a story of 'ridiculous hijinks'.

"That was the last time I saw Abby before . . .," Joanna sighed, shaking her head of the memory. "I knew something was off when night fell and she wasn't at our usual meeting place. I went to the Charles and well, you know the rest."

Jane had listened intently, she did. She was also thinking. She was beginning to understand something, her time traveling problem was becoming a little bit clearer.

She still didn't have the how or the what, but maybe she had the why. Everything from her time, from the microfilm that she and Maura read together all described definitively the release of Cirrillo, the fallout of his case being thrown out, the death of Abigail Rizzoli. Before her jump, before the switch, all of this had been true. Cirrillo won. Abigail died.

Now it seemed that Jane was getting what she had wished for. Something had given her the opportunity to rewrite history.

"I wish I knew more," Jane said aloud, unknowingly clenching a fist.

"I'm done with the questions," Joanna said. "I'm afraid if I keep asking, I'll lose the very last bit of her that I have left."

Joanna's hands rested on top of Jane's again. So much love, so much anguish. Jane was overwhelmed by what she was sensing in the woman next to her and she wanted desperately to pull away, but she did not. Instead, she promised, "I will get her back for you."

"Oh yeah! And just how will you do that?" Joanna said with a laugh. "We don't even know how this happened to begin with."

"Forget the questions, right?" Jane shrugged. "Maybe we'll figure out the how someday, but we can't live like this. This is a very cruel limbo we're in."

"So we blow this place and go back," Joanna said. "We'll leave Oscar here. He's nuts anyway."

"We need him," Jane reminded her gently.

"Says you," Joanna murmured.

"No, says you," Jane said. "Weren't you the one earlier telling me we had to stay?"

"I suppose," Joanna admitted reluctantly.

"He's a little weird, but he's the only one that's been through this before," Jane said. "Sort of."

"We should sleep," Joanna said, unable to suppress the yawn. She led Jane back to the bed. They climbed in together. After a few moments, Joanna could feel the other woman curl up behind her and this amused Joanna greatly. "Didn't fancy you as much of a cuddler."

Jane grimaced before replying, "I'm not cuddling. It's cold."

"True. Proper cuddling would involve your lips on mine," Joanna agreed, her voice teasing.

Jane had to prop her head up to that. "Lips? Just what do you think cuddling is?"

Joanna sighed. "Let's just say it's something I'll probably never get Abigail to do, not in a million years." Joanna flipped over to face Jane, struggled to make out her features in the dark. "Why the sudden need to be close?"

"It's cold."

"As you said. I don't believe that's all, so spill."

"Abigail died yesterday," Jane said quietly. "I mean, according to the papers in my time, she died. Maybe she faked her death, as we're doing right now. I don't know if she lived on in secret or if she still ended up dying at the Charles. All I can be sure of is that whatever we do will upset the original chain of events. I may go back to something I don't recognize. I may not go back at all."

_I could die._

Joanna slid closer to Jane this time, taking one of those trembling hands into hers. She squeezed reassuringly, "Then I guess we'll be stuck together. And maybe, hopefully, Abigail is living on as you. That she will be able to read of our triumph in the future, that her sacrifice was worthwhile."

"I didn't consider that," Jane said, managing a smile. She tightened her hold on Joanna's hand, suddenly feeling brave. "Can I tell you something?"

Joanna said, "Of course."

"One of my first cases, one of my first big ones dealt with a serial killer. He kidnapped me. Tortured me. I got away somehow. Even now the details are fuzzy, but just the thought of him has always sent a chill through my bones. Later, there was a chance that he had somehow trained a replacement, an apprentice. It was the nightmare all over again."

Joanna stayed silent, while Jane gathered herself. This was obviously something Jane talked very little about and if this Rizzoli was anything like the one Joanna knew, it was best to let her work it out in her own way.

"He's always scared me," Jane confessed finally. Her eyes began to sting with the threat of tears. "But the thought that I may never see . . . that I may never get back to where I belong? That scares me more."

"You can't give up, Jane," Joanna said, her voice soothing and sure. "We may change the future tomorrow. We may turn the world upside down, but there's a reason this happened. There's a reason you're here and I have the utmost faith that whatever this thing is has saved both your lives. It may have saved my life. It may have saved Maura's."

"I'm glad you sound so sure," Jane joked, trying to hide her fear.

"I am far from complete certainty," Joanna replied, chuckling herself. "I just have to believe this happened for a reason. There's a reason I've been separated from Abigail. I hope that same reason will reunite us. That it will reunite you and Maura."

Jane hoped so. She cracked another smile that morphed into a yawn. With amusement, she asked, "Now which one of us is making assumptions? Maura and I are not together."

"No, I suppose you are not," Joanna said, shutting her eyes. "You are close?"

"Very," Jane answered quietly, resisting the urge to reach over and run a finger down Joanna's cheek. _This isn't Maura. She is not Maura._

"I guess we're both very good liars then," Joanna concluded, before turning her back to Jane once more. "Goodnight, Jane."

Jane finally shut her eyes.


	15. Chapter 14

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Really appreciate the reviews and thanks for the follows and favs.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Richard felt chilled by the warning, thinking that perhaps until he got to know this new Rizzoli, he should play along and be a good little captive.

**14**

**Abigail Rizzoli was getting the mother of all bad feelings. **How could they be sure this Richard could be trusted? They couldn't. Her arms were crossed, her lips locked in an injurious frown. She was playing the part of a petulant, stubborn child standing in her corner of the room quite well, but she remained silent. For some reason, Maura wasn't afraid of this man. In fact, she was sure Maura was likely devising a reason they should untie their hapless intruder, but despite her misgivings, she found that she trusted Maura's instincts. They would entertain this man, for now.

"Who is Mary Easton?"

Richard shifted in the chair some, rolled his head in an attempt to crack his neck. "Listen, I don't know a lot about how this works, but trust me. This Mary might be your ticket home."

"Mr. Brandt, I really shouldn't feel it prudent to warn you again, but it's probably best to just answer Abigail's questions directly," Maura said quietly.

Richard felt chilled by the warning, thinking that perhaps until he got to know this new Rizzoli, he should play along and be a good little captive. "Okay, but to answer that question simply would be impossible."

"I think the company you keep at the moment can deal with a little impossible," Abby replied, her tone involuntarily weary.

Richard nodded. "Mary Easton had her soul switched with her grandmother a long time ago. I mean, that's what she's always told me. Who was I to tell her different?"

* * *

**Richard Brandt kicked the back door open, coughed as the dust hit him in the face.** Naturally, the house key he had been given got jammed in the front door lock, so he had to find other means to get in. There was filth everywhere. It was disgusting, but this was his luck. Got some legal papers in the mail detailing that he actually had family in this big lonely world, only to discover they were _dead _relatives and that these dead relatives left him this old Bostonian house.

The house was just too dusty. He went back outside. He slowly explored the premises, looking at the stone benches and long dead bushes and dried up earth. The land extended for a few acres. He peered into the window of a small guest house. Inside, it was dark and murky. Not a soul had touched this place, it seemed, in a millennia. His own personal ghost town and he hated it.

He reached the back of the property and for a moment, felt a strange chill. He looked around, feeling silly and shaken all at the same time. Curiously, he tilted his head toward nonexistent voices, swearing he heard whispers but logic dictated that there were none.

"Old house," he muttered. That was all it was. It was just his imagination getting to him. He tensed up all the same, briefly wondering if there were some old ghosts haunting this place. Seriously. That was the kind of luck that he had. If there were such things as ghosts out there, they would find him.

There was a creak along the fence and this time, Richard knew that he heard it. He whirled around in a circle, searching for whoever the hell else thought it a good idea to visit this place. And then he spied her. A very old woman was leaning on the swinging fence door. She looked so ill.

"Miss?" he called out to her. She looked at him, but didn't speak. She just looked at him. He slowly made his way back to the house, toward her and muttered, "Old house. Old, crazy woman that probably came with the house."

He stopped several paces away from her. It was then she finally cracked a smile.

"I'm a bit too frail to be much of a threat, young man," she said, noticing the obvious shake in his hands. "What brings you here?"

"Well, this place is mine," Richard answered, mustering up the strongest voice that he could, because she was right, damn it. She was just a frail, old woman. He still didn't step any closer. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I stay here, sometimes," she answered. He frowned, but couldn't really decide if she was lying. She added with a sad drop of her eyes. "I don't have a home anymore."

"Well, there was no mention of a squatter," he told her. "And I did sign the papers that say I own this heap of junk. So, I guess it's time you went on your way."

She went to speak again, but coughed instead. He saw it, on her hands. It looked like blood. The old bat was sick. He took one step forward. Only one. He had seen enough episodes of _CSI_ to know that blood transmitted all kinds of disease. He didn't want any of them. Shakily, he asked, "What's wrong with you? Have you coughed that mess all over the house?"

"Not sure," she managed to wheeze out. He wasn't really certain which of his questions she was answering, but it was probably both. She cleared her throat and finished, "Been having difficulty breathing lately. Probably has to do with the river."

"Shit," Richard muttered. She was sick. And perhaps a little loony. The only river he knew of was the Charles and while it wasn't the cleanest of water sources, he doubted it would transmit cardiovascular-like diseases. He kicked at some dirt with the toe of his shoe, before quickly coming to a decision he had already made several minutes before. "Get in the house, already. It's chilly and you obviously come down with something. Hopefully, I can get the power on tomorrow and we'll see about you staying warm."

The old woman smiled and he suddenly thought, she was beautiful. Wrinkled and haggard, but beautiful. He purposely strode past her, not quite willing to lay any hands on her just yet and he messed with the back door again and shoved it open. He bumped around the kitchen, opening every shade and curtain that he could to get some light in the place. When he was done with that, he found her sitting at the kitchen table like she had been sitting there all along.

"So, you live here?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Sometimes." She seemed so sad.

"I'm Richard. Richard Brandt. I'm a reporter. Sometimes."

"My name is Mary Easton."

Richard let another awkward moment pass before he asked. "No family, Mary?"

"A brother," she said. "But he's been dead a very long time."

* * *

"**I thought the old woman was crazy, alright?** But I took her in. The house was big enough. I thought she was homeless. For days I kept fighting with myself about taking her to a shelter, but she was yammering on about losing her brother and that people had mistaken her for someone else. She called herself Mary, but others kept telling her she was Sue. She claimed that the Charles River had switched her soul with her grandmothers'. I mean, it was crazy. I just knew if I turned her over to some halfway house, she would end up in an institution. After all the foster homes I went through, I just couldn't do that to her."

Abby was interested, but wasn't about to go soft just yet. "Get to the part that helps me."

"Look, over the next year I grew to like Mary. She grew a little less eccentric, happy to have a roof over her head. Happy to have someone at least willing to listen. I even published her story for _The Global Update_. She liked that a lot. So digging around in the attic, when I found that obituary on you, Abigail, then saw Detective Rizzoli on the news, I couldn't help but think that maybe this old woman had been right all along. What if there were dopplegangers out there, running around with confused identities? When I heard about the incident at the Charles River, I just knew it couldn't be coincidence."

"Does Mary still live with you?" Maura asked.

"She is still under my care, currently holed up in the hospital where you had your recent stay, Abigail. And I don't know why, but I believe that crazy old woman, alright? If she really is a young woman in this aging body, what do you think two leaps through time have done to her?" Richard questioned. "But she's determined to go back, even if that means piggybacking with you, Abigail."

"You want to bring her with us?" Abby asked, her tone incredulous.

Richard insisted. "She's been at that river twice now during the happening, whatever the hell it is that happens out there. She tried to go back once. She failed. She ended up in my arms. I've read into her history. I know that Mary Easton supposedly died, drowned in the river. She's the best hope you got."

Maura leaned over to Abby. "Maybe she's a catalyst of sorts. We still don't even know what triggers this change, this leap through time. I don't think we should ignore this."

"Richard, if you would excuse us for a minute," Abby said, pulling on Maura's arm. They stood several feet away before Abby hissed sharply, "Up until now, I took you to be a fairly logical and reasonable person, Doc."

"Up until yesterday, I had never seen someone begin to bleed out from a magical knife wound," Maura countered. "My perception has clearly been altered."

"We shouldn't go with them alone," Abby reasoned. "I don't know why, Maura, but I don't like him. I don't know if I trust his story about Mary either."

Maura crossed her arms in contemplation and a little frustration. "Who do you suggest we get to tag along? Remember, you are pretending to be Jane and anyone else we bring in on this will treat you as such."

"Okay, fine, but I want to confirm some details about this woman first," Abby argued. "You've shown me articles detailing my death. I want some articles detailing hers."

"To confirm what?" Maura said, almost with a laugh. "That he can read them too?"

The lock in the door turned just then. Before Abby and Maura could react, Tommy Rizzoli busted in. He looked frazzled and tired. Possibly drunk. He saw the two women and began talking immediately. "Hey, listen. I can't sleep alright. Not when I think this guy can help us. He says he can help you, Jane."

"Guy?" both women said.

"Yeah, this guy at the hospital gave me his card," Tommy said, before glancing over his shoulder and spotting the very subject he was discussing, handcuffed to a chair and for his part, looking rather helpless. Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin. "Oh, shit! What the hell is going on here? You tied him up?"

"I, actually, didn't want to do that," Maura chimed in, clearly not wanting to paint herself as the bad guy.

"I don't trust him," Abby said, crossing her arms again.

"But Janie, you're a cop!" Tommy argued. "_Cops_ don't do that."

Maura agreed readily. "You're right, Tommy. Cops don't do that." She gently grasped the young man's arms, rubbed them in soothing manner. "Tommy, I need you to trust me. Okay?"

Tommy was reluctant, naturally, but he did trust Maura so he nodded. "You know I trust you, Maura. You're family."

His voice had gone small and it warmed Maura's heart, but she quickly regained the confidence she needed to continue.

"Jane didn't lose her memory," Maura said slowly. "Somehow, this woman took her place."

Maura was still holding onto him and for that he was grateful because it felt as if his world was spinning, that he might fall over any second. There were very few things in this world that had ever made Tommy question Maura Isles. She was innately good and caring. Ridiculously smart and ridiculously beautiful. The only thing he had ever found odd was how Maura could choose to be friends with someone as acerbic as Jane.

He laughed nervously. "Okay. Prank's on Tommy. You can untie him now. Okay, Jane? I'm laughing, sorta."

Abby sighed, uncrossed her arms to look less aggressive. "She's telling you the truth. I'm not your sister. And he's not to be trusted."

Richard groaned. "_He_ can hear you! And _he _is very thirsty!"

"Shut up!" the three of them said simultaneously, before Tommy pushed Maura away.

"Maura, this isn't funny," Tommy pleaded. "Jane is mixed up. You said so yourself. That's what you told Ma and Frankie, right? That she got really involved with her work. She thinks she's this woman from the past."

"Tommy, you know I can't lie and at the time, I felt I was right about what happened to Jane, but things have changed," Maura said calmly. "Can we show you?"

Tommy hesitated again, but nodded. Maura glanced at Abby, who seemed to understand what she was to do. She lifted up her t-shirt, showed Tommy the bandages on her abdomen. He inhaled sharply, before Abby explained simply, "I was stabbed."

Tommy sputtered. "You were _what?_"

Abby rolled her eyes. "That came out wrong."

"You're sure as shit that came out wrong! Why are you not at the hospital!"

"Tommy, please, listen," Maura pleaded, grabbing his attention again. "Listen to her."

Tommy went still again, so Abby continued. "I was supposed to die in the river a very long time ago. For some reason, I didn't. I'm here. All of me is here."

Tommy was very quiet. He looked at Richard, as if that man would say something to refute what he was being told. Richard shrugged helplessly, giving him no more relief from this insane babble then the two women before him. Tommy turned back and said meekly, "You're not my sister?"

"No, I'm not," Abby answered, watching as Tommy grew paler. Raising an eyebrow she said worriedly, "Tommy? You okay?"

"I'm gonna be sick," Tommy said suddenly. And just as Maura instructed 'Bathroom!', Tommy skipped past Richard and into Jane's bedroom. They heard the door slam shut and the young man begin to wretch.

"Well, what's it gonna be?" Richard posed, shifting his gaze toward them. His patience had run out and he didn't want to keep Mary waiting any longer. "You wanted another companion, now you got one. And he's right, Abigail. You're a cop now. You can't keep me like this."

"Abby, he doesn't have cause to hurt us," Maura reasoned. "This is new for everyone. If he tries anything, I trust both you and Tommy can handle it. If he tries to run, Frost has a knack for tracking people down."

"Sister or not, I will kick your ass if you hurt either of them," Tommy announced loudly from the bedroom doorway, looking much better and less pale. He had a damp towel to his face, his short black hair matted down to his head. He stalked over to the chair that Richard was trapped in and somehow transformed that little boyish face into a rather menacing one. "If you can help Jane, I suggest you do. Otherwise, you'll answer to me."

Richard chuckled nervously. "So, it's settled then? Field trip?" Reluctantly, Abby walked over and undid his restraints. He rubbed his wrists and promised, "I'm doing this for Mary."

Abby's eyes grew icy, cold. Being next to the two Rizzolis was positively frightening, but Richard held his ground. He stood up slowly, hands in front of him and open palmed to show his willingness to cooperate. He asked meekly, "Now can I have my phone?"

"I've lost a great deal, Mr. Brandt," Abby reminded him, her voice cracking slightly.

"So has Mary," Richard agreed. "So have I. Spending the last year taking care of a crazy senior citizen hasn't exactly done wonders for my social life. I get it."

Abby finally handed over the phone, much to Maura's relief. Maybe this new alliance was getting underway.

Maura asked, "I take it Mary isn't well enough to travel?"

"Oh, she'll get out of bed for this, don't you worry," Richard assured. "I'll make arrangements to get her moved. In the meantime, I'm sure you all have more important things to do. I'll keep in touch."

He slowly pushed his way between Tommy and Abby, before rushing to the door, swinging it open and disappearing down the hall. Tommy shut the door completely after him, then leaned against it allowing a weary expression to fall over his face. He set his eyes on the woman he thought was his sister, but as he caught her eyes, he noticed something. Something in her gaze that just wasn't quite Jane. He then turned his eyes onto Maura and her apologetic expression.

"What's next?" he asked.

Abby sighed, sinking onto the couch and clutching her abdomen. In all the excitement, she had ignored her discomfort but it certainly hurt now. She said, "Sleep. We need to sleep and you need to sober up."

"Good idea," Tommy nodded, now looking bashful. "Sorry. I knew I shouldn't have, but . . ."

"It's okay," Maura stepped toward him, a soft smile on her lips. "Just, lay off the alcohol until we figure this out. We need you."

"What about Ma? Frankie?" Tommy said. "I don't want to lie to them."

"I'm hoping it won't come to that," Maura said honestly. "I have a feeling Richard won't take long arranging for Mary's release from the hospital. Maybe we can figure this all out before any of us have to decide to make that decision, okay?"

Tommy nodded again, then moved past Maura toward the couch. He knelt down in front of Abby and smiled at her. Hesitantly, she returned it and was once again amazed at the people that Jane had in her life.

Tommy grabbed hold of her hand and said with a nervy voice, "So, maybe I'm drunk enough to believe all this right now. Maybe you really are crazy, but whatever this is? I'm not going anywhere. Not this time." He leaned over and planted a soft kiss to Abby's forehead. The gesture brought stinging to the back of her eyes, because when Tommy was this close, he reminded her of Bobby and she missed her husband all over again. He squeezed her hand tight and promised, "We'll fix this."

Tommy let go and wandered into the kitchen, began to fiddle with the coffee pot. Maura lowered herself onto the couch next to Abby.

Abby found it hard to look at Maura, afraid to show any emotion over what just happened. Instead, she said, "Jane is very lucky to have so many people that love her."

Maura pressed her lips together in an effort to maintain her own composure. She rose from the couch again, this time offering her hand to Abby. "Let me redress the wound. Then we sleep. We only have a few hours until morning and I would like to try to make it to autopsy on time."


	16. Chapter 15

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: I know it's been a month! My apologies. Will be trying my best to get back on some kind of more "normal" posting schedule.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Joanna was stunned into silence. It was a moment she thought had been secret, one that had been for her and Abby alone.

**15**

**They left the car on a beaten path and as Jane walked a few steps behind Joanna and Oscar, memories of this place and what had happened began to reanimate right before her eyes. **Some flashed briefly, others lingered, but the images fell in sequence and she might have questioned their verity if she hadn't experienced it all firsthand. She could see herself chasing Scott Crane along the river, could feel the mud slapping her legs as she gained ground. Saw herself fall into the water, could feel herself drowning.

She woke up in Boston, but she wasn't home.

A hand grasped her forearm lightly, bringing her back. Jane focused her eyes on Joanna, the owner of that saving hand. The Maura lookalike gave a tentative smile and asked, "Still with us?"

Jane surmised that Joanna didn't intend for the question to feel as loaded as it did, but she decided to stick to simple. With a nod, she said, "Yes. Still here."

She was still in 1930-whatever. Still a detective misplaced by time. Still feeling chills from the water.

The three of them approached a small hill, the one she could have tumbled down. With a shake of her head, she let her eyes fall upon another place. The place she could swear was the location she woke up.

"Do you remember the map?" Joanna asked, not particularly wanting to interrupt whatever was going on inside that Rizzoli mind, but for reasons unknown to her, she felt they were running short on time. They simply couldn't delay any longer, despite how much stress Jane was enduring just by merely standing here.

Jane shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. I never looked at it."

"Anything seem familiar? Remember anyone else being here?" Oscar asked. To his credit, he did seem concerned for her well-being, but the eager reporter questioning would have annoyed Jane in any decade.

"I think I fell in over there," Jane said, but her frustration was clear. "It all looks the same. The rocks, the mud, the _water. _I could have fallen in _anywhere_. We might not be in the right place at all."

"No, we must be close," Joanna reasoned. She pointed to a large oak. "I found you leaning on that tree there, I think. You made it out of the water, crawled to that point. I think. It was dark."

Jane just shrugged. That day . . . that night was just so confusing and jarring. Since then, all she had managed to do was make this woman and this old man feel just as insane as she felt. But at least they were insane together. Absentmindedly, Jane turned the wedding band still on her finger. She hadn't been able to pull it off.

"Well, well," Oscar said in surprise. They saw the older man kneeled down near the river bank now. He held a small, brass object in his hand. The two women approached him as he stood up and cleared away the mud. The object rested in his palm as he showed them with a grin. "It's a cufflink. Look at the initials."

"J.E.," Jane read aloud.

"John Easton?" Joanna asked. "Could that really be his?"

"We must be close," Oscar concluded, his voice rising in excitement. "Maybe the recent struggles here have kicked up this piece of evidence. Maybe we are near the place where souls switch lives."

Jane shut her eyes a moment. Recent struggles. As if being stabbed and drowning were just mere skirmishes that could be overcome so simply. How was she expected to pinpoint when her soul changed places with Abby? She felt Joanna's hand slip into hers, prompting her to open her eyes. There was an incredible sadness washing over her as she gripped Joanna's hand tightly and unconsciously pulled her closer. "I don't know what to do now. I don't know how this works."

"Oscar suspects you need to jump in the river," Joanna said, trying to be helpful. "See what happens."

"The last time I was in there, I thought I was going to die," Jane admitted, almost ashamed by the fear she could feel. "I was drowning."

"You're not alone this time," Joanna said, willing herself to be brave, trying to instill this false bravado into the woman next to her. "If I think anything is wrong, I will come get you myself."

Jane tried to smile, but couldn't forget those last few moments of terror.

_Like a bolt of lightning. She felt as if someone was guiding her back, lifting her up. _

"I think someone was here with me the first time," she mumbled, the last bit of memory replaying over and over. "I felt someone."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I was drowning," Jane recalled, but with a bit more excitement. "I was dead, but someone saved me."

"Who?" Joanna asked. "There was no one else here when I found you."

There was some crunching of leaves, stopping the blood of all three cold. There was a person approaching and Jane put herself in front of Joanna instinctively, protectively. She couldn't see anyone at first, but she could still hear them, the brush of the woods visually concealing what could be an attacker, an enemy. She said quietly, "Oscar?"

"I'm here," he whispered back. "Right behind ya."

Jane rolled her eyes. Was she supposed to protect both of them? Automatically, she reached for a sidearm that wasn't there and cursed inwardly. As a detective, she always carried a firearm, but here masquerading as Abigail, the prosecutor didn't carry a weapon. Joanna and Oscar didn't really think to bring one themselves.

Finally a voice called out timidly, "Abigail? Joanna?"

Jane heard Joanna gripe from behind her, "_Bobby?_ Bobby, is that you?"

"Who else would it be?" Bobby replied, his irritation clear. He came around another large oak, his handgun at the ready. "When I couldn't find you at the loft, somehow I figured you would be here. Again. What did Joanna say to convince you to come back out here this time?"

"Jo didn't convince me of anything," Jane said resolutely, making sure that she was now between Jo and Bobby. She certainly didn't need these two fighting again. "Why are you out here? With my death announcement, I was under the impression we would all lay low for a while."

"Clearly, you're doing a bang up job of that, Abby!" Bobby scolded. "Care to tell me why you came back here? I thought you were hurt?"

"There is a good explanation," Oscar tried to make some peace.

"Oh, Oscar, almost didn't see you there," Bobby said sarcastically and as Jane noted, had yet to put away his handgun. He gestured somewhat wildly with it too. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you're here too? Hmm? What the hell are you three doing out here? Abby, we need to drop this Cirrillo thing, okay? Oscar can find a big story somewhere else, alright?"

"This isn't about Oscar or some story," Jane said, trying to remain calm herself. "You're making a lot of assumptions right now, including one very big one. . ."

"_Abby_, don't you dare say another word," Joanna hissed, now coming around and standing between Jane and Bobby. "It's clear none of us are doing what we ought, but maybe it's because we don't have a choice. Let's not lose our cool."

Jane appreciated the attempt at peace, but noticeably Bobby did not. His eyes seemed to grow sadder, if that was possible and Jane sensed there was something more going on. With his arms dangling at his sides in defeat, he implored, "What the hell is going on with you two?"

"What do you mean?" Joanna replied. She sounded worried as well.

Bobby was frustrated. "I don't know. How about you two just . . . It's like you're speaking another language all the time, without words. But I don't need words. Not anymore. Did you think I wouldn't understand? Do you think I'm blind?"

Joanna seemed to pale at this line of questioning and Jane suddenly felt a sense of dread. Joanna stepped forward some, leaving a little space between herself and Jane. She said calmly, yet with urgency, "Bobby, this really isn't the best time. Cirrillo hid something out here. We have to find it."

Bobby laughed darkly, his eyes changing color, his expression growing malevolent. Jane could see it, could sense the transformation in him almost immediately. Just as she was about to step forward, Bobby pulled his gun again, froze all of them in place. "No, no, Joanna. You're not going to find it. In fact, the big oaf doesn't really remember where he buried it. Something about an 'x' marking the spot. Do you know how many God danged trees there are out here?"

"Bobby, what did you do?" Joanna said fearfully.

"What did I do?" Bobby yelled. "What did _you_ do?"

Before either woman could attempt to answer that, something else caught their attention. Cries for help.

"No! Stop!"

The two women whirled around, could see Oscar struggling against the strength of Torin Grady. What the hell? He was here too? Was Bobby followed again? Oscar was no match for this big brute. They watched in horror as Torin slammed Oscar into a tree and then plugged him in the temple. The older man went limp immediately, slunk to the ground unconscious.

Joanna cried out helplessly, "Oscar!"

Jane whirled back around, eyeing Bobby with utter contempt. "Whatever you think we did, we can settle this without hurting anybody else, Bobby."

"I don't _think_ you did anything, Abigail," Bobby said sadly. "I _know_ you did. You were leaving _The Robber _one night. The two of you. I saw you."

Jane glanced at Joanna. By the stricken look on her face, Jane could tell that this story was going to be good. Joanna managed to shake herself out of her stupor, "We were trying to find dirt on Mr. Doyle. We were . . ."

"Giggling like school girls," Bobby finished. "You were . . . proving to me what I should have known all along."

* * *

"Listen to you! Suddenly such an optimist!" Jo laughed. "Though, I must thank you for the compliment. I think you weaved it in there somehow. I'm happy you notice my flawless features."

"I wish you would stop embellishing my compliments," Abigail replied with a groan.

"Don't tell me you're embarrassed!"

"I'm not!"

Abigail was beginning to fume. Or blush. She wasn't sure which. "I'm not embarrassed. Just learn to be more humble! It's something you could try."

"Abigail," Jo sighed, grasping the tall woman's wrist to pull her to a stop. They faced each other, the moon giving them their only source of light. It highlighted the high cheekbones on Abby's face and Jo couldn't help tracing an index finger along them. "Please, I think you are just as wonderful, if not more."

Jo reluctantly pulled her hand away from Abby's face, sensing the other woman's discomfort.

Abigail averted her eyes downward, bashful. "Jo, I want to vindicate Jimmy, you know that. I just . . . I don't know . . ."

"Shh, please," Jo said, silencing her friend. "Let's just enjoy this calm, just this once."

Abigail shut her eyes, tried to take Jo's advice, but her heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second. She couldn't ignore it, no matter how hard she tried. She reopened her eyes, Joanna was still standing there watching her expectantly, hopefully. Slowly, Abigail reached for Joanna's hand. She intertwined their fingers and pulled the other woman closer to her.

"What have you done, Jo?" Abigail asked softly. "What have you done to me?"

"Maybe I should be asking you that question," Joanna replied, her eyes alight with mischief. "What have you done to me?

Joanna didn't ask, didn't care, didn't want anything more than to kiss the woman senseless. She used her free hand, grasped the back of Abigail's neck and pulled them closer to one another. She mashed their lips together in desperation. She had hoped this would satisfy this burning interest, but quickly discovered that it would never be enough.

Abigail's grip on their joined hands only grew tighter, her other hand finding purchase on Joanna's hip. A pleasant warmth spread through Abigail, her mind grew clearer and for the first time in a long time, Abigail felt a sense of freedom. A sense of reckless abandon. If the urgency in Joanna's kiss was any indication, it wasn't just Abigail experiencing this overflow of gloriously confused feelings. Joanna was just as much a casualty of this energy between them.

Just what had they done to one another?

"Jo," Abigail breathed out, but couldn't bring herself to end it. Not yet. Here, hidden under the cast of moonlight, she was kissing this woman and not giving a damn about the consequences. She got a fistful of the cloak Joanna had draped around her shoulders, a desire she thought hidden was igniting and thriving.

But she couldn't do this.

"Jo, please," Abigail protested again, reluctantly pulling them apart. "Please, I can't."

"I did embarrass you," Joanna cooed sadly. "I'm such a mess! I shouldn't have . . . "

"Jo, no. It's not that," Abigail cut her off, ears reddening despite themselves. She was happy it was dark. It cloaked her bashfulness. "Please. No regrets. We're much too old for those."

Joanna sighed deeply in resignation. "Agreed. No regrets. No apologies?"

"No apologies," Abigail assured, even managing a smile of her own. A comfortable silence settled over them and while Abigail fully expected to experience some kind of societal condemnations to course through her head, she was pleasantly surprised to find she had none. It didn't matter. She loved Jo for Jo.

And that was the problem. She loved Jo.

Nervously, Abigail added, "This is the time you promise me to behave."

Joanna laughed effortlessly. It was clear she had no reservations. "Oh, okay. Sure. I'm not too good with promises though."

Abigail shook her head with bemusement. She leaned forward, kissed Joanna's forehead as if it were some form of goodbye. She whispered, "For both of our sake, please try to keep this one."

* * *

"I don't even know why I followed you," Bobby admitted. "It wasn't that I didn't trust you, Abigail. I just never trusted her and that night, it was suddenly clear why. Why I had always felt something wasn't right about her."

Joanna was stunned into silence. It was a moment she thought had been secret, one that had been for her and Abby alone. She had no idea that anyone else was about that night, but in her experience, it was quite rare that anything in Boston stayed secret for long; even stolen, cherished moments such as that. And to have Bobby speak of her as an abomination that had somehow corrupted his dear Abigail! Her body swayed, she felt her world begin to tilt and if not for the warm body of Jane standing beside her, she may have just fallen over.

As for Jane, she had stiffened up considerably, not sure what the next move should be. Joanna, for all her bluster, could state she didn't love Abby. It was clear where her heart lied.

Finally, Joanna said, "I thought we were alone."

"No, you weren't alone," Bobby said, shaking his head. "I always had a feeling that Abby would leave me someday. Just didn't think it would be with a mobster's kid. A mobster's _daughter_."

And there it was. Another accusation. Abigail was now corrupted and unfaithful.

"She didn't leave you," Joanna said resolutely, almost angrily. "Bobby, you twit! You didn't see the guilt she carried with her after that night! The guilt that I had ultimately forced upon her, all to fulfill my selfish wants. She would have never done that to you."

"Give it a rest, sweetheart. I know what I saw. I've seen Abby in love. That was once the two of us, so you can't fool me. She loves you, alright? She _loves_ you. But that's all over now. I tried to keep Abby off this case. I tried to protect both of you, but Abby. You kept pursuing Jimmy. What was I supposed to do? It was my job, my life . . . _our lives_ on the line. I have no choice now."

"Bobby," Jane said in warning, shaking her head. She pleaded, "Don't do this."

"You're next, babe," Torin growled, grabbing Joanna now and pulling her away from Jane. She cried out and Jane lunged forward, managed to swipe at Torin's face, leaving a scratch across his cheek, before Bobby forcefully grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back.

"Abigail, enough!" Bobby said. "I don't want you to get hurt, alright? I'm trying to help."

"By bringing the mob with you?" Jane yelled. "Don't let him hurt her, Bobby."

"I can't control him," Bobby said helplessly. "He controls me. They control all of us, Abigail. Don't you see that? There are no good ones left."

"That's not true," Jane said bitterly. She thought of her brother, Tommy. Young and misguided, but still a Rizzoli. He could be amazing if he applied himself. She thought of her father. A cheater and liar, yes, but he had raised her to be who she is today. She loved him and he loved her. He was a Rizzoli. They were good people, a good family. She stared at Bobby Rizzoli with imploring eyes, "There _is_ good in you."

"Abigail. . ."

Jane cut him off, and pushed him away. "My name is _not_ Abigail." Had it not been for the sudden course of adrenaline, she might have slapped a hand over her mouth, but she had said it. It was done.

Bobby froze, nearly dropped his gun at that statement. "_What_ the hell are you saying?" Jane stepped forward, but that only prompted Bobby to raise his gun again. They both heard Joanna shout out again, heard the tell-tale signs of splashing in the river. Bobby warned her, begged her, "Don't you move. Not until you explain yourself."

"Bobby, call him off, please," Jane pleaded, now holding up her hands. "You don't want to hurt me. Or any of us."

"Jane!" Joanna cried out now, and she had no choice but to act. Torin was going to kill her. She had to save her.

"Bobby, I have to do this."

"Why did she call you that?" Bobby yelled, but it was to no avail. Abigail was running away from him, or was it . . . Jane? Did it matter? She was running and he raised his gun, he pointed it at her back and his eyes stung with the threat of tears. And he just watched her form grow smaller and he kept telling himself to stop her at all costs. _Just shoot her in the leg, just slow her down._ He wasn't out to kill her. He wasn't out to kill anyone.

Jane didn't care, she didn't really think. She just ran away from Abigail's husband, a man pointing his gun at her back. She had to try, didn't she? What choice did she have? So as Jane was rushing toward the river at neck break speed, she waited. Any second she expected to hear a gunshot. She expected Bobby to gun her down, to keep her from saving Joanna. For some reason, she didn't hear one.

Maybe Bobby was wrong. Maybe there were some good ones left.

So she continued on. She didn't hear a gunshot, not as she jumped over the limp body of Oscar. Not when she finally reached the water and not when she dashed in, slugged Torin in the face for even thinking it was okay to touch Maura.

No. _Not_ Maura. She had to get this straight!

Despite his previous tussle with the Rizzoli woman, Torin hadn't expected such a shot to the face, immediately letting go of Joanna and sinking underneath the water momentarily stunned.

"C'mon, let's go," Jane sputtered, spitting out the water she had breathed in. She now had Joanna in her arms, directing them both back to the bank. Then Jane felt his hand clamp over her ankle and she was pulled under the surface.

_Please._ _No, not again. _

She was completely submerged; her last glimpse of Joanna had disappeared. She kicked and flayed about, finally breaking his hold. She needed air . . .

Joanna watched with bated breath from the bank, watching the water froth from the excitement. She hadn't noticed her tears until just now, watching and waiting. She whispered, "Please, please . . ."

They both surfaced, Torin and Jane as they struggled for dominance. Joanna propped herself upon her hands and knees, still trying to regain her breath from being choked. She needed to help Jane.

Torin yelled out, "Just like your brother, Joanna! He struggled with me, but he lost!" He then clamped that meaty hand around Jane's throat. Her eyes bulged out at the sudden pressure and he growled at her, "Now to put you out of our misery for good, you bitch. Beg for your life, just like Jimmy did."

"No," Joanna said, determination pushing her forward and back into the water. But something was happening. She was in deep enough to swim, but she felt as if she was getting no closer to them. The frothy water wasn't just from the two of them thrashing. The current was pushing them further away! She cried out, "Jane! Jane, something's wrong!"

Jane could just barely hear Joanna. Something was wrong, something was happening. _It_ was happening again. It seemed that Oscar's theory of 'jump right in' was working. Unfortunately, she was struggling for her life once more and it was like a nightmare on repeat. Fall in the river, go under the water, resurface and fight, go back under again.

It was so damn cold.

And there was nothing she could do about it.


	17. Chapter 16

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: Really appreciate the reviews and thanks for the follows and favs. Thank you.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: Maura could not deny that she cared deeply for both of them and if she were to find any sensibleness in this whole situation, she had to know that she couldn't feel the same for both of them, could she?

**16**

**Abigail Rizzoli rolled her shoulders in an effort to feel more comfortable in her new skin. **This was Jane's pant suit, after all. It wasn't that the clothes didn't fit. They were damn near perfect, but they represented something entirely different than who she actually was. They cemented this notion that she was now a cop in the year 2012 and not a lawyer from the 1930s. This part that she was playing, complete with wardrobe, family and job. She wore all these hats in her previous life too, but now the script was different. It was manufactured. It was made for her, yet it was not.

She cracked her neck now. The jacket was cinched in at the waist, which was different from how her husband's blazers fit and the shoes Maura had selected were of the heeled boot variety. She insisted it was something Jane would wear to work, so Abby just went with it. She missed her fedora most of all. The one literal hat that really defined her.

She made the mistake of mentioning how she missed rooting through her husband's wardrobe, giving Maura reason to spout off some more fashion nonsense. How there seemed to be a current "tomboy" trend rising up and that Abby would fit right in with her "masculine of center" preferred mode of dress. It was adorable, how Maura's face lit up at the mention of clothes. She even found it fascinating the way Maura primped in the hall mirror. Every detail, from earrings to belt was given one final touch of the fingers to make sure that everything sat just so.

"Did either you or Jane look into my husband's work?" Abby inquired with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Talking about his clothes was easy territory, but her mind had been bogged down with 'what ifs' and other questions. Most importantly, how is it that Maura had said so little about him. As the papers of this time indicated, he had lost his wife. Had he done nothing to honor her life?

Maura sported a sympathetic look, one she had been wearing almost constantly since Abby woke up. "I'm sorry, Abby. Jane was also concerned with the lack of history on Robert. She feared he may have been involved with your attack."

Abby wasn't stupid and she did appreciate Maura's honesty. It was a fear she had come to ponder herself. Very few people knew about her dealings with Joanna. Very few knew about Jimmy and his testimony. Bobby was the lead detective in most of those mob cases. Bobby and Joanna knew she would be at the Charles that night, no one else. It was funny how Abby was certain that Joanna would not turn on her, but she had the minutest of doubts when it came to her own husband. Just enough doubt to make her wonder . . .

"Jane?"

Oh, right. She was Jane. In all her musing about this great pretend, she did forget where she was. She turned back to Vince Korsak. It was relatively early still and the bullpen was low on activity, which was good. The less people she had to interact with, the better. The two of them were waiting on Maura to return with some coffee and Korsak had been talking to her (or at her since she was hardly listening). It was probably time she made an effort to interact with him. Maura did mention that Korsak was Jane's former partner, after all.

"Are you sure you want to be here? You should probably be resting," Korsak said, his kind face looking so worried, so concerned. Abby was getting tired of these expressions already. "Frost and I are handling the Crane death and your accident. You don't have to be here."

"Why wouldn't I be here?" Abby replied with an easy, practiced smile. "Besides, if I wasn't, Ma would be pestering me at home instead of pestering me here." Angela Rizzoli was a carbon copy of her mother-in-law, so she felt confident in her assessment.

It was the right response. Korsak smiled with her.

Maura had done what she could to play up Jane's memory lapse as merely just that: a memory lapse. It was an unexpected side effect of nearly succumbing to hypothermia or some such thing. Maura was good at stringing together long words and even longer definitions. Even still, not even the good doctor's word seemed to placate everyone. Angela was still wary, but at least warm and forgiving. Korsak was being the same, just without the kid gloves. Abby could at least appreciate that. He wasn't her parent, he was a friend.

"You just never stay down. It's why you're a good detective."

Abby wasn't sure how to reply and thankfully, she didn't have to.

"Ready?" Maura was back, handing each of them their coffees.

"Please," Abby said, her tone probably more desperate then she intended. A quick 'see ya later' and Maura was taking Abby down to the morgue. Abby managed to drain her coffee like a whiskey shot before the elevator ride was over. "I don't think I can stay here all day."

"We don't have to," Maura reassured. "We can leave as soon as I'm done."

They stepped through shiny, metal double doors, Maura immediately taking off to the left to what must have been her office. Abby just stayed in the doorway. She had been in morgues before, but this was different. So much more equipment, computers and gadgets. The tech was overwhelming. Abby was still trying to wrap her head around cell phones.

The room itself was brighter than Abby would have imagined, but the sterile, shiny slabs and the intense white sheets covering dead bodies were all too familiar. One slab conveniently centered in the room was occupied and Maura cleared up the identity, "This is Scott Crane. He's the man Jane chased into the Charles."

Abby had been so caught up taking in her new surroundings, she hadn't noticed the ME had already donned navy scrubs and was pulling back the sheet of the body.

"Korsak still thinks I'm a nut," Abby said, venturing closer to the man who tried to drown Jane.

"He's concerned," Maura said gently, producing a pen and pad seemingly from nowhere and began to scribble what Abby assumed to be preliminary observations. "Everyone is concerned for you."

"No, they are concerned for Jane," Abby corrected, but with no malice in her voice. It was simply the truth. These people didn't know her.

Maura, however, felt abashed by the slip up. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Abby sighed. "I'm actually eager to hear from Richard. That's how uncomfortable I am."

Maura had a feeling that reassuring platitudes would go over with Abby as well as they would with Jane. As in, they wouldn't go over well at all. She simply watched as Abby cautiously approached the slab that Scott's body rested on. Maura had stood like this many times with Jane standing opposite her. So many times and they never felt this strange.

"How did you know to look for Scott?" Abby asked curiously.

"Well, we didn't at first," Maura admitted with a shrug. She flipped on some lighted boxes hanging on the walls. Abby squinted some at the brightness before focusing on the shiny black film hanging there. They revealed images of a human skull and its teeth. "Our first victim had some foreign material in his teeth. I removed it, did some tests and discovered it was the same material used for a special kind of glove. It was the gloves that led us to the Charles. To the group of environmentalists that both Jim and Scott worked for. When we approached, Scott ran. His guilt was obvious, but as to what his guilt pertained to, I'm not sure."

Abby shrugged this time. "Because he killed a man."

"I still don't have the evidence to prove it was him," Maura said, feeling a lecture manifesting on her tongue before she could stop it. "We don't have the gloves the killer used to suffocate our victim. The gloves Scott had on him were brand new. A search of his house was futile. Nothing on Scott's body indicates recent trauma, other than what can be explained by his drowning. We may not have our killer here at all."

"So, if Scott isn't the killer, why did he run?" Abby asked aloud. "Unless he thought Jane was coming after him for something other than Jim. Does he have priors?"

Maura smiled. "Frost is looking into that now. He's very thorough."

Abby went to say something more, but found she couldn't. She coughed, her hands coming to her chest as she did so. Then she sputtered, feeling a frigid liquid in her mouth and down her throat. The term 'panic' would have been an understatement as she felt an icy fear flow through her.

"Abby?" Maura called, but she sounded miles away. "What's wrong?"

Abby tried to speak again, but she couldn't. She could only sink to her knees in the middle of the morgue and when she hit the ground, she gasped again. There was splashing. Water. She was choking on water and it was all around her! Maura's image was fading away, as was any kind of light. Darkness crept in from all sides, cold and wet and damning. And then she could see nothing at all but blackness.

Maura rushed around the slab and slid down onto her own knees as she tried to get Abby's attention. She grasped the other woman's shoulders and searched out her eyes, but Abby wasn't seeing her. Her pupils were large and black, as if she wasn't seeing anything and everything all at once. When Maura called her name again, she could tell that the woman couldn't hear her. What in the world was happening?

Abby was in some trance, on her knees and motionless until she suddenly wasn't, her eyes finally catching Maura's, her face filled with fright. The overwhelming terror emanating off of Abby struck Maura hard, bringing a stinging sensation to the back of her eyes. Abby's gaze softened, the fear on her features slowly replaced with astonishment. Maura nearly lost all her emotional control when Abby uttered her next word.

"Maura?" Abby said, just barely above a whisper. She said it with surprise. She said it with recognition. She said it out of love.

"Jane?" Maura said back, her voice merely a whisper itself, but just loud enough to echo deafeningly in the morgue. A very long second passed between them, but it became very clear that it was Jane looking back at her. Maura tried not to choke on her own happiness, as Jane's eyes grew happier at recognizing her.

"Maura," Jane breathed out again, relieved. "It's you."

"It's you," Maura repeated back. And this time a few tears did fall as Maura began to reach out, to bring her fingertips to the side of Jane's face in reverence. She barely got the chance to touch Jane before those eyes rolled up in pain. Maura gasped, "No . . .!"

And then Jane fell over onto to her side, convulsing in what looked like a seizure before her eyes closed and she was motionless once more. Maura panicked and shook the woman in desperation. "No, wake up! Wake up! Jane? Please wake up!" No response. With a cry, she begged, "Don't leave me, Jane."

_Don't leave me. _

Somehow, the words broke through.

Abby's eyes shot open and she gasped again, but this time there was no water. There was only Maura, hovering over her with tears streaming down her cheeks. The frigid water was gone, replaced with the softness of Maura's palm against her face. Abby breathed in deeply and said, "Oh my God, Maura. I was there again. I was drowning."

"Drowning?" Maura repeated, gathering the woman up in her arms. She couldn't stop crying, the tears just falling. She didn't have the faculties to just 'switch back', she only had the strength to hold the woman close to her, to never let go.

Abby held onto her too, desperately needing to feel another person, to know that she was alive and safe. "Maura, I was back there. I was dying."

"Jane was here," Maura said stiffly, and this made Abby pull back. Maura knew it sounded crazy, but what about this whole damn mess hadn't been crazy? Maura insisted, "I swear it. You looked at me and then I realized, it wasn't _you_. It was _Jane_. It was like you two had . . . had. . ."

"Switched places again," Abby finished the sentence fearfully. "How?"

"I don't know," Maura said in frustration. "I don't know what the hell is going on and I have to tell you, I absolutely _hate_ not knowing what is going on."

"Janie? Maura?"

The two women were still tangled up in each other on the floor when they turned to the source of the voice. It was Frankie Rizzoli and he was holding a folder in his hands and wearing a comically confused expression as he took in the sight before him. He shifted his weight uncomfortably and guessed, "Is this some weird girlfriend cry thing? Except you guys didn't have a couch to crash on?"

"Well, Jane is always saying how uncomfortable my office furniture is," Maura said abruptly, forcing a smile. Resorting to jokes wasn't usually the norm, but then again, nothing was normal anymore. Not even her practiced life mannerisms.

Abby decided it was best to agree, adding with a hint of humored indifference, "I am always saying that."

Frankie seemed to look relieved. "So, you're Jane today? My Jane? You're back?"

Abby could feel a flush color her cheeks. She found it odd that they were lying to one brother and telling the truth to another, but just for the sake of trying to keep things as simple as possible, she needed to limit the number of people that knew who she really was. Abby glanced at Maura in hopes that she felt the same way. The ME wordlessly decided it was probably best they stand first, so they pulled each other up and straightened out their jackets nervously.

"Uh, yeah, Frankie," Abby lied, using the back of her hand to dry up the last bit of her own tears. "It's me. Jane."

"But her memory is . . . ," Maura began, but didn't know how to finish the sentence without outright lying to Frankie.

"Muddy," Abby finished for her. She caught Maura's eyes for a second longer, then turned back to Frankie. "Go easy on me?"

"Uh, yeah, of course. Anything to help," Frankie smiled brightly. "I will be the best brother ever, Jane. Don't you worry. No jokes, no teasing, none of that."

Abby smiled back with the hope that it looked genuine. She noticed the folder he was holding again and motioned to it with uncontrollably shaky hands. "So, what ya got there?"

"Oh, right," Frankie said, walking over to them. "Frost asked me to bring this down to you. Everything he could dig up on our latest vic. Well, _your_ latest vic. Gotta say, this guy is no saint. Other than his work on cleaning up the Charles River, he's got a nice long list of other unsavory activities. A lot of which tie him to the mob. Most directly to Paddy Doyle." Maura glanced up at the last sentence prompting Frankie to shrug. "Sorry, Maura."

"Don't apologize. It seems our work will continually tie me back to that man," Maura said gloomily.

The mention of the mob struck Abby as too coincidental and she said, "Do you think Jim was involved with the mob as well? What if his death was a contract killing?"

"Hey, yeah, Jane," Frankie piped up excitedly. "I mean, it kinda makes sense right? We don't really have any motive . . ."

"Or a confirmed killer," Maura cut in, taking a good deal of effort on her part not to scold the Rizzolis for surmising and guessing.

"Won't hurt to see if we can find anything, right?" Frankie said with a smile. "I'll tell Frost to see if Jim and Scott are linked by mob activities. Talk to you girls later."

Frankie was out the door quickly. Abby and Maura stood next to one another uncomfortably, the remnants of their crying session still lingering around and the latest development on Scott's life giving them more fodder for their case.

Quietly, Maura took hold of Abby's hand and led her into the adjoining office. She put Abby into one of the chairs, asked shyly, "Are you okay?"

Was she okay? Would she ever be okay? What was that, back in the morgue? Before Abby could possibly reason any of those answers out, she shifted in the chair awkwardly.

"This chair _is_ really uncomfortable," Abby joked mildly, but at Maura's concerned look, she wised up. "I'm tired, which I suppose is a side effect of having nearly died a second time, but otherwise I'm fine."

Maura frowned. She didn't like where her feelings were taking her, she didn't like the conclusions she was coming to. She didn't like that her concern for Jane and for Abby seemed almost synonymous, interchangeable. They were not the same person, but the event that took place in her morgue had her nearly convinced that Jane and Abby were one in the same. What if they were?

Maura could not deny that she cared deeply for both of them and if she were to find any sensibleness in this whole situation, she had to know that she couldn't feel the same for both of them, could she? She took a few steps away from Abby, if only to clear her head just a little and leaned against her desk. She said aloud, "You said you were drowning. I know that Jane was here. Logically, if your body was in the morgue and she woke up where you were. . ."

"Then I woke up where she was," Abby finished, then swallowed hard. "She was in water. She was . . . drowning."

"Or she was . . . ," Maura started then stopped. _Fighting. Surviving. _

Abby nodded. She understood.

Mary Easton had tried to correct what had happened, didn't she? She had concluded that the only way to right everything that was wrong was to go back to the Charles River. Maybe Jane had figured on trying the same thing, but it had almost worked, hadn't it? Why was it that Mary had not been successful? What pulled Jane back?

Abby went to ask this question aloud, but the devastated look on Maura's face washed away all questions. She immediately stood and took the two short steps needed to close the distance between them. She was feeling it again, that strange sense of urgency to protect Maura.

"Maura, are you okay?" The doctor looked at her then, eyes filled with an understandable pain and she answered by pulling Abby into a warm embrace. At first, Abby wasn't sure what to do with her arms, but of their own accord, they figured it out for her. She held onto Maura tightly. They were both afraid, that much was clear. Both afraid that she was going to die.

Abby _was_ afraid of dying.

Maura's head rested on her shoulder, squeezing her tightly. "That can't happen again."

Abby shut her eyes, she choked down her own pain and forced herself to say, "But it has to. It's the only way back."

"But Mary didn't make it back," Maura argued with a sharp tone, though she wasn't sure what the point was. She just knew that she couldn't go through that again. She couldn't have Jane back, only to see her get ripped away again so cruelly. It was selfish, but it was what she felt. What she feared.

"Jane belongs here," Abby said with a calm finality. "I know that's what you want most. And I think it's important we figure out why Mary is still here. Otherwise, she and Richard may be taking us on a fool's errand."

Abby could feel Maura's head nod in agreement, before they broke their hug.

"I do want Jane back here with me," Maura agreed, lowering her gaze some in bashfulness. "But I don't want to sacrifice you either. I'm conflicted."

Abby managed a soft smile. "That makes two of us, babe."

"And you're right about Mary," Maura continued on, once again putting physical distance between herself and Abby. It seemed to be the only way to clear her head of all those contradictory emotions. "Mary tried to jump back into her time, her body, but she couldn't. We should probably figure out why."

"I guess while I'm a detective, I could do a little detecting," Abby said, managing another smile. At least they had more of a plan. "I'll check into Richard while I'm at it. I'm not getting good vibes from him at all."

"I'll finish up the autopsy here and then come find you," Maura said, before unconsciously grasping Abby's hand and giving it a squeeze. "Will you be okay up there with Korsak and Frost?"

"Maura, I've nearly drowned twice _and_ lived to talk about it 80 years after the first attack happened," Abby joked, while rolling her eyes. "What else could possibly go wrong?"

Maura felt the corners of her mouth upturn in a smile. _Typical Rizzoli_. "Your optimism is admirable."

Abby shrugged. "It's what makes me so endearing."


	18. Chapter 17

Title: Play the Game

Author: e-dog

Notes: As always, thanks for your patience and for the favs, follows and reviews! Let's do this.

Category: Crime/Paranormal/Drama

Summary: He shifted his eyes to her, to his wife. He rose from the chair, slowly. He expected her to help him. To coo how sorry she was, to ask him how she could help. She didn't move.

**17**

**Detective Robert Rizzoli was beginning to understand just how painful his life was going to be from now on. ** Being a bad copper, doing the bidding of mob bosses to protect his family was just a piece of it. The other was suspecting that the family he had been trying so dutifully to protect had been falling away from him long before he knew it was happening. He could have very well lost his wife and everything leading up to this moment was for naught.

Abigail had always been trouble. The good kind of trouble. She was determined to be the best, to help those she felt deserving. Even people like Joanna Hastens. Women like Jo were rare, but they were still suspect. No one who is bred from mob money can ever be completely trusted.

And the bitter man in Bobby might accuse Abigail as being party to mob business and having just as broken a soul as he had, but her work was not the same. He knew that.

Sure, Bobby was connected to the mob and he knew their dealings like the back of his hand, but everyone was blindsided by Jimmy Hastens true familial past. Bobby didn't know. Abigail didn't know. Torin killed the young man not knowing his father was Mr. Doyle. In fact, until Jimmy's death, neither Hastens sibling had broadcasted their link to Doyle. They were just fixtures at _The Robber _keeping their noses remarkably clean for being direct Doyle descendants.

Another harsh crack to his temple had the young detective sprawled out on the floor. He coughed on the blood he was swallowing. Bobby knew he would be laid out for another couple of hours at least if he took another blow like that. He wouldn't survive this beating much longer. His punisher seemed to recognize this, so he got another swift punch to his gut instead.

Bobby fell to his hands and knees, he tried his best to keep from vomiting. He was quite young when he got into this business. He wasn't so naïve to think he wouldn't have a few scrapes to deal with, but still, thinking about being brave while getting the crap kicked out of you was one thing. Enduring it was another thing altogether.

"Mr. Cirrillo seems to have it on good authority that your wife ain't dead," the big brute said casually, rerolling his shirt sleeves and glaring at Bobby with utter contempt. "He don't like that Torin is missing either."

Bobby managed to glance back up with one swollen eye. He probably looked a sight, but what did it matter? He was probably going to be dead before the night was over, but did he expect any other fate than this? He followed Abby, Joanna and Oscar to the river, at Torin's behest. He went there to stop them from doing whatever the hell it was they were doing, but something Abby said got him. She managed to knock a little sense into him.

He was still a good man. She believed that. If she believed it, why didn't he? Why had he given up? So he just didn't do anything. He just watched. He failed the mob. He failed everyone. He deserved this beating.

"So, I'm going to ask you one more time? Is your wife dead?"

The goon was dressed remarkably well for a Cirrillo goon. It was rare the men working for Cirrillo looked as good as he did.

Is your wife dead? Did the goon just ask that question again?

Bobby's eyes shut tight of their own accord as he remembered what had happened at the river. He had never seen anything like it. The water, it just came _alive_. He saw Joanna helplessly trying to swim out to Abby. At first, he assumed that Jo was just weakened, but he soon found out the current was just that strong. He couldn't get to Abby either and Torin was going to kill her. He was going to kill his Abby and it would be all his fault.

But how quickly he had forgotten.

Abigail wasn't really acting like herself, especially not in those final moments. She was responding to a different name. She ran away from a pointed gun and took on Torin like a wild beast protecting her young. In all honesty, his wife had frightened him as she thrashed about in the water. She had always been daunting, sure, but this was different. Something about her was different.

"She is dead," Bobby mumbled to the floor. The goon said something, but the blood was rushing in his ears. He didn't care what was being said, honestly. He forced himself back to his feet. He stumbled a moment, before deciding, what the hell? He wasn't going to take this anymore.

Bobby let his overcoat fall off his shoulders. He undid the top button of his shirt. If this was going to be his kiss off, he wanted to go down fighting. In an even tone, he said, "My wife is dead. And I could care less about that offish moron, Torin. He probably killed her. I'm all done bleeding, fella. I have nothing left. So if this is the end, let's have at it."

The goon smiled. He was typically slick, neat mustache and gold rings. He shrugged. "Listen, as much as I'm loving this, Cirrillo don't want you dead. Not yet." He fixed his cufflink this time, before adding, "Unless you have suddenly come down with a case of justice and due diligence. If that's what we're dealing with here, then perhaps your death will be back on the table."

Either keep working with Cirrillo or die.

Bobby wasn't really ready to die. He was a coward.

"I think he's learned his lesson," came another voice.

"Mr. Doyle," the goon said meekly. How quickly he lost his swagger. The goon was dismissed. Bobby turned to face Doyle, not understanding why he was here.

"Rizzoli," Doyle smiled warmly. "Please, sit over here, young man. Let's talk."

"I'm not sure we have much to say, sir." Bobby ambled his way back to the chair he started in. It was lying on its side and as he bent down to pick it up, he wheezed in pain. Doyle waited patiently until the chair was upright and Bobby had fallen into it.

Doyle began, "Why did you lie?"

"About?"

"Abigail," Doyle answered simply. "Don't be coy." Bobby didn't reply, so the mob boss continued. "Joanna told me. I think she believed she had a sympathetic ear, but I have to admit something to you, Rizzoli. I don't care much for you or your wife. You filled my kids with something akin to hope. Hope for what, I'm not quite sure, but hope can be dangerous. Like you, for instance. Lying about Abigail _hoping_ that no more harm will befall her. Hope is a liar, Detective. Remember that."

"Was he yours?" Bobby asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Does it matter?" Doyle shrugged. "They all report to me."

Bobby felt his heart sink. How could Doyle be in charge of everyone? Was Cirrillo's absence that damaging? It's not like the man was dead . . . yet.

Doyle fixed his cuffs, walking back to the door he entered through. He glanced at Bobby. "I'll let you catch your breath." He opened the door and called, "Jo! Tend to this man, please!"

Bobby was surprised, to say the least, as Joanna rushed in wide eyed and carrying a bowl of water. Doyle shut the door.

"God, Bobby, your face," Joanna said, kneeling down in front of him. "Are you alright?"

"Why does he know about Abigail?" Bobby asked harshly. "Why is he running Cirrillo's men? What is going on?"

"Abigail is recovering, by the way," Joanna replied haughtily. She raised a washcloth to Bobby's right eye, washed the cut with gentle strokes. "She's with Oscar."

"Jo, enough games," Bobby pleaded, pulling his face away from her ministrations.

Joanna paused, before rising to her feet again. "Bobby, whatever Jimmy found, it was more than I thought. It was a ledger of their accounts and of important people, but it also proved other things. It's a ledger that proves my father and Cirrillo have been in this together all along. It's the only record of their business _together_. It was why Abby and I couldn't find anything in Daddy's office that night."

That night. Bobby tried to forget what else happened that night. "So Cirrillo. And Doyle."

"Who would have thought that the Italian mob and the Irish brotherhood would team up? I don't think anyone saw that coming," Joanna confirmed grimly.

Bobby sighed. "What does he want with Abby then?"

"Daddy is convinced that three people know where that ledger is buried," Joanna said. "One person is missing. One is dead. The other . . ."

"Abby?" Bobby breathed.

"She took the map Jimmy gave me," Joanna said. "She's the only other one who could possibly know where it is and Daddy wants it back."

"Then Abby is safe," Bobby sighed in relief. "Your father wants information from her. He won't want to kill her until he has it."

"But Cirrillo still might," Joanna warned. "Cirrillo may have formed some kind of truce between all of us, but that doesn't mean his reach has been limited. But as far as I can tell, Daddy will leave Abigail alone for now. But he knows the two of us are smart. He knows the two of us will have to get Abigail to play ball, and soon. Cirrillo may only be fighting the courts another month before his imminent release. We don't have a long time."

"So we just get Abby to tell us," Bobby concluded. "We find it. I put it somewhere else. She's off the hook and I take the heat."

Joanna's face fell then. "Bobby, I don't think that's possible."

"Why not? You just said. . ."

"I know what I said, Bobby."

"Then why not?"

_She's not Abby. _

Joanna swallowed hard before saying, "She can't remember. When she fought with Torin the first time, when I found her out there nearly dead, she was so disorientated. She couldn't remember why she had been out there. At first, she couldn't remember me or you or anything. The map got waterlogged in her vest pocket. We have nothing."

Nothing.

Joanna drove them to Oscar's after that. Bobby retreated to a study filled with books and various knickknacks. He found an oil lamp and lit it. He sunk into an armchair and waited. It took some time, maybe an hour, before he felt her presence in the doorway. He shifted his eyes to her, to his wife. He rose from the chair, slowly. He expected her to help him. To coo how sorry she was, to ask him how she could help. She didn't move.

"You're hurt," was all she said. Her voice a little broken. It was as if she was blaming herself for his stupidity.

"Been through worse, dear," Bobby said, trying to smile. Why did Abby feel so far away from him?

Her eyes cast down as she replied, "Somehow, I doubt you've suffered more than a paper cut."

Bobby advanced now, wanting desperately to hold her to him. To embrace her, to love her. He reached for her, but her hands went up quickly, her eyebrows rising up in alarm in almost a comical way. Her body stiffened considerably. "Please. Don't do this."

"Do what? Hold my wife?" Bobby asked incredulously. "Please, Abigail. I don't know how to fix what I've done. I need you."

Bobby watched helplessly as she backed away from him, her hands still up to defend herself. Her expression was one of deep regret. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you. Not the way you want me to." She quickly disappeared. Bobby went out into the hallway, just in time to see her enter the great room. He slowly approached the doorway and heard her. Heard them _both_.

"I can't do this, Joanna," she said.

Bobby decided to listen for a moment. He stood near the door, but out of sight.

"Then don't," Joanna said softly. He heard the ruffle of clothes, presumed the two of them were now wrapped up in a hug. When he took a peek around the corner, he found he was right. They were on the couch and Abby's head was in Jo's shoulder. The subtle shake of those shoulders was the only indication that she might be crying. Joanna went on, "We don't have to figure this out tonight. Bobby will just have to give you space until you're ready."

Abby laughed darkly. "Ready to what? Tell him that his wife is really dead?"

"Stop it," Joanna hissed. "Don't talk that way. Please don't talk that way."

"What if she is?" Abby mused aloud, her voice barely above a whisper now. Bobby watched in silent jealously as Joanna wormed her hand into Abigail's hair and pulled her toward waiting lips. Joanna kissed Abby's forehead reverently, consolingly. And for an excruciating second, Bobby could swear that Abigail was going to allow this act of solace to continue and then she pushed Joanna away. With a humorless laugh, she scolded Joanna, "If I won't let him do that, what makes you think I want you doing that?"

"I'm better looking?" Joanna quipped, almost too playfully for a situation so serious as theirs.

Bobby pulled his head out of the doorway, having seen enough. But the words still filtered out. And they broke his heart.

"I don't think I can be alone tonight," he heard his wife say.

"You won't be," Joanna promised.

Bobby finally walked away. He went back to the study, found a tumbler of scotch and poured a hefty drink. He slept there until the next morning.

* * *

**The day after Jane lost her battle with the Charles River wasn't much better than any of the other time she had spent in the 1930s**. The first time she woke up with a knife wound. Today, she shook out her hand after landing a nice punch to Bobby's face. The cut above his eye reopened and poured blood all down his cheeks and dribbled off his chin. For a millisecond, she felt bad. But only for a millisecond. Honestly, it had all happened in a blur.

Bobby came bursting into the guest room. He saw the two women curled up together in the same bed. Oscar barreled in after him, probably attempting to stop the angry detective from doing anything stupid, only it was too late for that. Joanna was already shouting at Bobby and Bobby was shouting back.

"What was that you said? That Abby wouldn't do this to me?" Bobby yelled. He lunged at Joanna, shook her by her arms and then slapped her, hard.

Jane, unfortunately, was still blurring her two realties together and when she saw Bobby slap Joanna, what her mind saw was Bobby slapping Maura. And then Jane remembered that Maura was somewhere in the future. She remembered how she was home, how she sitting next to Maura in the morgue and how happy she was to see her. And then she was back in the water and Maura was gone. Bobby just slapped JoannaMaura.

So now the detective was sprawled on his back, blood on his face and Oscar leaning over him trying to revive him. Jane was muttering to herself and still shaking out her hand, always forgetting just how much it actually hurt to punch someone square in the face. A small grunt brought her attention back to Joanna.

"Jo," Jane called out softly, helping the woman to the bed to sit down. "Are you okay?"

Joanna stretched her jaw a bit dramatically. "I will be fine. You didn't have to do that."

Jane replied very seriously. "Yes, I did." Joanna was literally the only other woman Jane had interacted with in this time, but the subservience of this decade was deeply instilled. Even in women like Joanna, who harbored some deep societal belief that somehow they deserve to be hit by a man. Briefly , Jane wondered if Mr. Doyle had ever laid a hand on his daughter. Jane took Joanna's hands in hers and said sternly, "I don't care how wrong you are and how right he thinks he is, he should never hit you."

"So you hitting him back was appropriate?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Just say thank you already."

Bobby groaned as Oscar helped him to sit up. Jane stalked over to him and said in a tone that brokered no argument, "When you're done being a jackass, then find me and we'll talk. Until then, don't lay another finger on her."

* * *

**Jane Rizzoli woke with a start. **She was still trying to get used to this; waking up in Oscar's home, clutching her chest after a frightfully painful nightmare. How long had this been going on now? A month? Yes, it _had_ been a month since the river incident. A month when she could swear she was home, with Maura and that being transported to the 1930s was just a really bad dream. They were in the morgue together and everything was as it should be.

Maura whispered her name in both disbelief and relief; as if she too had been without the very air it took to breathe. Maura touched her face and in that moment, everything was alright. _They_ were okay.

And then the water rushed back in, washed Maura away along with all hope that her old life would ever be her life again.

"Jane! Joanna is here!"

Oscar was yelling from downstairs, as he was wont to do. He wasn't much for actually coming to wake her up anymore. He was too afraid to help her face her nightmares, she supposed. Jane grimaced, not liking her continued existence any more than when she crawled up on the riverbank all that time ago, but it was her existence now. She was living it.

Even if she wasn't up for company, she was happier to know it was Jo waiting downstairs. Jane nearly snorted to herself because, really, she had about three friends now. Jo, Oscar and Bobby (if he counted).

The day she punched Bobby in the face, he left without saying anything. It took a few days, but he came back, his eye looking ten times better and his face fixed into a look of shame. Bobby had made attempts to talk; had tried to explain his working with Torin in the first place. Their conversations very quickly dissolved into arguments. She didn't have the energy for that today.

She stood in front of a full length mirror and hardly recognized herself. The dark circles under her eyes were both from lack of sleep and lack of care. She felt a chill throughout her bones, hugged herself and rubbed her arms in an attempt to warm up. She simply could not. Each waking moment felt as chilled as the Charles River. For the last month, she had been living with failure and it was cold and heartbreaking. She had known disappointment before, but it was nothing like this.

Her life had seen its share of missed opportunities. Relationships that may have given new meaning to her work laden life, she let those slide away. But those people weren't ripped away from her. She had some manner of control; she was the one that said no. She was the one that watched them walk away from her because it was her choice that they do so.

As she viewed herself in the mirror, she realized that this is what it felt like to have something ripped away from her. To feel lonely, passed over, discarded. And it wasn't even the other person doing these things; it was the confounding universe striking out against her.

Jane felt the tear slide down her cheek before she saw it in the mirror.

Jane rested her own palm against her face, reimagined the way Maura reached out to her and clearly saw it for what it was. Love. For a brief moment, she knew it all and then the river took it away again. The river took Maura from her again.

And now she had to once again face the only other woman in this universe that she didn't want to see. Another woman she was just going to disappoint.

Out of the nightgown and into some trousers and a plain white shirt, Jane made quick work of her hair and was down the stairs in less than a few minutes. Joanna eyed her suspiciously and guessed correctly, "Let me guess? You just woke up?"

Jane sighed. Joanna, of course, was dressed to the nines. An orange scarf slung around her shoulders, accenting the equally orange plaid pattern of her dress. A thick black belt with a silver buckle around her waist. Jane shoved her hands in the pockets of her borrowed pants.

"I've been up," Jane lied, shrugging.

Jane felt as if Joanna was unnervingly close to her even though they had both put a healthy five feet between them. With a tilt of her head, Joanna's hair briefly fell like a curtain over her eyes before brushing it aside again in mock annoyance. With genuine concern, she said, "I know you haven't been sleeping. Or eating."

Jane smiled tiredly. "Oscar telling on me?"

"No, but you just did," Joanna smiled back. Jane cast her gaze down and away, wishing their banter felt more natural. Nothing was natural about this, everything was so different now. Joanna pressed gently, "This can't go on, Jane."

Jane laughed bitterly now. She threw her hands up in the air dramatically and asked, "What the hell should I do? Abigail is dead, remember? It's not like I can just walk around town freely. If I do, it's in disguise or something. Which you know, is funny since I'm already pretending to be somebody else."

The flash of hurt did not go unnoticed by Jane, she simply ignored it. She had grown weary of this thing, constantly being reminded that she wasn't who Joanna wanted her to be. Every time they spoke, this excruciating ache would always exist and Jane could never heal it, no matter how much she wanted to. She could never _be_ Abigail and Joanna knew this too, but here she was. Here they both were.

"Bobby had to keep up the charade that Abby is . . . dead," Joanna said unnecessarily. "It's to keep you safe."

"I know," Jane said, resigned to her current fate. With a grimace, she added, "Bobby has told me this a million times, by the way."

"He took quite a beating for it," Joanna pressed some more.

"He told them she was dead to save his own hide," Jane said bitterly. "And don't forget he lied to her."

"As she has been dishonest with him. And he thought he was saving her," Joanna sighed. "Bobby is a lot of things, but I know his love for Abigail is true. Men have lied for far less things than love."

Jane couldn't help but gripe. "Why are you, of all people, defending him? He hit you, Jo. I won't forget that and neither should you."

Joanna sighed deeply. "He's a copper in with the mob, hiding his affiliation from a city prosecutor wife who is hell bent on bringing the mob down. The last thing he expected was for a mob boss's daughter to befriend her. Jealously is ugly. I'm trying to understand his perspective as well."

Jane snorted. "Is it working? Understanding his perspective?"

"It only makes me jealous that Abigail is his wife and can never be mine," Joanna admitted ruefully.

Jane was done talking about him, so she turned her back on Jo. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, because in all honesty, she had already forgiven Bobby. She didn't really have much choice in the matter, did she? Bobby Rizzoli was her family, whether she wanted him to be or not. Bobby wanted more than anything to repent; to see that once and for all that Cirrillo and Torin and the entire corrupted network got what was coming to them.

Unfortunately, the reality was they had little to no chance of accomplishing this. The corruption just ran too deep.

"It went as you said," Joanna spoke quietly this time. Jane turned just enough to see Jo remove the orange scarf she was wearing and throw it across a chair. She retreated further into the great room, wandering over to a window to gaze out at Oscar's surrounding land. The grass was beginning to brown, to revert and prepare for winter.

Jane followed her deeper into the room, but maintained her distance out of habit. They could never stand too close to one another anymore, or rather, Jane couldn't stand too close to Joanna. Jane confused their shared space often with how she shared physical space with Maura.

Until Joanna, Jane had never paid much attention to just how often she reached out to hold Maura's hand. To cast a fleeting touch to her shoulder or to her arm. It was only now that she couldn't reach out for Maura at all did she realize just how accustomed she had grown to the contact.

Finally, Jane breathed. She tried to forget all of that.

Jane stated sadly, "Cirrillo is free. Officially."

"They dropped the case," Joanna nodded. "You said they would. I knew they would. In some ways, I think Abby always knew too. Maybe that's why she was so insistent on tracking down Jimmy's stash herself."

"Everyone has forgotten the still very dead woman lawyer," Jane mused aloud darkly. "They barely remember the star witness, a runner turned snitch who was murdered. Why would they remember? If not for Oscar writing about it, the public wouldn't even have remotely considered that Jimmy was whacked to keep Cirrillo out of jail, right?"

They both ignored the callousness of Jane's words. Jimmy had been a person. He had been a son and a brother. He had been a friend.

"God, I need a drink."

Jane made quick work of pouring scotch, which Oscar always said they could help themselves to. They both gulped down one. Then two. Quickly, she poured thirds, but they both decided to sip these. They performed this little dance too. Each time they stood too near to one another, the other would back away quickly. Jane would have found it funny, but really it was just off-putting. And she just really couldn't stand it any longer. What was there to fear?

"Neither of us is diseased, right?" Jane said lightly, posing the question with a slight grin.

Joanna shook her head. "I suppose not."

"We're friends?" Jane asked.

Joanna nodded this time. "Yes. We are. Not that we have many choices."

"True," Jane agreed.

Jane put her glass down on a nearby end table. Slowly, she took Joanna's glass from her hands and then set it next to hers. Joanna rose an eyebrow curiously, but didn't say anything. Now that Jane was so close, Joanna couldn't find words at all. Even after all this time, it was Abigail's face she was seeing and without words to jumble all that up, it was Abigail Rizzoli that she desired. If she just forgot about everything, then she could fool herself into thinking that it was Abigail eyeing her with such intense care.

"I don't know what . . .," Jane began, her brow knitted in frustration. "What I want . . . friends don't do that."

Joanna studied Jane's expression carefully. The poor woman was having a war with herself. She was fighting instinct and Jo had a good feeling that was something Jane Rizzoli had very little experience in. To fight instinct was to go against everything that she was. Joanna stepped impossibly closer to Jane and encouraged gently, "Don't fight what you feel."

Jo sighed when Jane's lips touched hers. It was barely there, a ghost of a kiss and it was downright heavenly. And then Jane whispered something that shattered the entire moment, "What have you done to me?"

Joanna's eyes snapped open. "What?" They were words that Jane shouldn't have known; spoken in a different time and a different place by a different woman. Jane didn't just speak those words, did she? "What did you just say?"

Jane blinked, then backed away. Her face falling into the unreadable expression it had been favoring the last month. Joanna surged forward, putting them back where they were. She tugged Jane's shirt, bringing their mouths back together. This kiss was less chaste, more hurried and fraught. Joanna could feel Jane, feel her raw hurt and it achingly meshed with her own. _Just what had they done to one another? _

And Jane kissed Maura. Joanna. She kissed one of them. She kissed them firmly, with desperation and certainty.

And Jane felt herself sob into the kiss, felt Joanna grip her upper arms tightly. She did not expect her emotions to unravel like that. So suddenly she just broke apart.

"I'm sorry," Jane pushed Joanna away. She took several steps back, hugged herself tightly, felt torn into pieces. Damaged. Lost. "I'm sorry, Joanna. That was stupid."

"No, it was me," Joanna replied, almost pleaded. She didn't want Jane to leave her, to run off. She was going to say whatever she felt necessary to make sure she didn't alarm this Rizzoli (or any Rizzoli) and scare them off for good. "It was me, just like when I kissed Abby before."

Jane shook her head vehemently. "No, Jo. I kissed you. I confused . . . I am confused."

"About me?"

"About Maura," Jane said quietly. "I don't know. I don't remember thinking about her as more than my friend before. Now I look back on everything and it just . . . "

_Makes sense. _

The two of them stood silently for several minutes. Joanna was the first to speak again. "I wish I could separate you two."

Jane raised an eyebrow warily, but managed to jest a little. "Did two shots of scotch just make us lose our minds or something? I mean, really?" Jane even pushed a laugh through her lips.

Joanna smiled back. "We could blame that, yes."

Jane looked relieved and pensive all at once. "Jo, I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"I shouldn't have kept it to myself."

"Jane, what? You're scaring me."

"I saw Maura. The river took me back and I saw her."


End file.
